fii 


297  C 


3-6 


WHITE  SHOULDERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
GEORGE  KIBBE  TURNER 

Published,  August,  1921 
Second  Printing,  September,  1921 


PRINTED   IN    THK    UNITED    STATES    OT    AMERICA 


WHITE  SHOULDERS 


2138488   ' 


1LT  IS  the  custom  of  our  country,  old  Judge 
Cato  Pendleton  used  to  assert,  for  the  matrons 
to  lead  in  and  offer  up  the  marriageable 
virgins  at  three  main  seasons  of  the  year,  set  apart 
by  our  unwritten  tribal  laws  for  that  purpose. 
The  first  of  these,  he  held,  is  established  just 
preceding  the  winter  solstice,  when  the  male  youth 
are  gathered  back  to  their  family  altars  for  the 
women's  and  children's  festival  of  Christmas ;  the 
second  anticipates  the  ancient  preparation  for 
the  vernal  equinox  in  the  period  of  joy  and  feast- 
ing just  preceding  Lent;  while  the  'third,  the 
largest  and  most  successful  day  of  sacrifice,  though 
local  in  its  scope,  is  also  doubtless  due  to  the  fixed 
climatic  mutations  of  the  year.  I  am  alluding 
now  to  our  Pageant,  of  the  Roses,  set  by  wise  pre- 
cedent in  the  last  of  May,  when  the  songs  of  our 
mocking  birds,  the  blossoms  of  our  Southland  and 
the  complexions  of  our  women  are  at  their  best, 
and  all  alike  invite  to  the  immemorial  spring  feasts 
and  sacrifices  of  love. 

It  is  upon  this  last  festival  at  the  height  of  the 
9 


10  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

mating  season  that  the  minds  and  purposes  of  our 
women  focus  throughout  the  year.  Here  is,  in 
fact,  the  fixed  centre  of  our  women's  calendar — 
especially  for  unusually  successful  mothers  with 
unusually  attractive  daughters.  For  though  there 
is  no  explicit  award  in  set  terms  for  the  best  offer- 
ing of  the  season,  yet  there  is  a  very  close  approxi- 
mation to  this  in  the  choice  by  old  custom  of  the 
Empress  of  the  Roses — the  main  figure  of  the 
central  tableau  vivant  of  that  day ;  and  a  distinc- 
tion of  this  kind,  I  need  not  point  out  to  any  ra- 
tional mother,  has  advantages  to  any  marriage- 
able daughter  much  more  permanent  than  the  as- 
sumption of  a  crown  of  flowers  as  the  ruler  of  one 
May  day. 

It  was  in  connection  with  this  chief  women's 
festival  that  I  myself  observed,  as  a  close  witness, 
the  rather  remarkable  enterprise  or  speculation 
in  the  main  business  of  women,  with  the  details  of 
which  I  am  now  about  to  acquaint  you. 

In  the  pageant  of  1919  an  unusual  and  unfortu- 
nate event  took  place — from  the  standpoint  of 
local  mothers.  The  winner  of  the  chief  honour 
of  the  day  was  a  stranger  from  out  of  town — a 
girl  who,  it  was'  charged,  was  brought  to  Carthage 
by  her  mother  for  the  obvious  and  open  purpose 
of  matrimony;  and  who  was  soon  known,  by  her 
critical  and  hostile  contemporaries,  as  White  or 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  11 

Snowy  Shoulders — a  name  bestowed  upon  her,  I 
was  given  to  understand,  because  of  the  over  insist- 
ence of  her  somewhat  astonishing  mother  upon  the 
irresistible  charms  of  that  portion  of  her  person. 
Her  real  name,  or  the  name  given  out  by  her  at 
that  time,  was  Virginia  Fairborn. 

Women — strange  or  otherwise — are  not  at  my 
time  of  life  the  subjects  of  such  eager  scrutiny  as 
they  may  have  been  at  some  earlier  period.  I  am 
well  by  the  first  sweet  expectancies  of  spring. 
But,  being  human,  I  could  scarcely  have  avoided  the 
observation  of  this  striking  girl  and  her  no  less 
striking  though  very  different  mother  nor,  if  I 
had  done  this,  could  I  have  missed  the  other  wo- 
men's whispering  about  them  from  the  first  mo- 
ment when  the  two  arrived  with  their  many  and 
houselike  trunks  and  stirred  to  the  depths  the  ex- 
clusive boarding  house  of  Mrs.  Tusset,  where  for 
many  years  now  I  have  held  my  residence. 

I  heard  the  other  women  more  or  less  from  the 
first  whispering  about  them  among  themselves, 
"Who  are  they?  Where  do  they  come  from?" — 
as  women  have  always  whispered  among  themselves, 
I  assume,  concerning  stranger  women  since  before 
Babylon;  especially  in  socially  guarded  centres 
like  the  boarding  house  of  Mrs.  Tusset.  In  time 
this  whispering  usually  abates  and  new  feminine 
alliances  take  place.  But  in  this  case  the  whisper- 


12  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

ing,  instead  of  dying,  grew  louder  and  more  sus- 
tained. The  two  strangers  still  remained  objects 
of  inquiry  to  the  other  women — not  yet  explained, 
or  accepted,  or  forgiven,  probably,  for  their  in- 
trusion. 

"Who  are  they?"  grew  very  soon  to  "Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  them  in  your  life?"  And 
they  stood  alone  outside,  so  far  as  the  women — 
though  not  the  men — could  arrange  it. 

For  the  girl — that  Snowy  Shoulders — this  was 
a  ma/tter  apparently  of  small  concern.  From 
the  first  she  was  the  still,  white,  silent,  unsocial 
creature  she  remained — smiling  but  never  laugh- 
ing, talking  little,  sitting  much  alone — a  strange 
unheard-of  thing  apparently — a  girl  dumb  and 
laughless  in  girlhood.  Yet  in  a  way  her  manner 
was  an  added  attraction ;  her  indifference,  together 
with  her  beauty,  proved  irresistible  to  the  men, 
who — as  any  woman  will  tell  you — love  to  love  the 
mysterious  qualities  which  they  themselves  invent 
and  place  behind  the  fine  eyes  of  beautiful  and 
silent  women. 

"She  may  be  handsome,  but  she  never  had  an  idea 
in  her  life,"  I  could  hear  the  whispering  women 
passing  judgment  on  her  day  after  day.  "She 
takes  no  more  thought  of  the  morrow  than  a  lily 
of  the  field,"  was  one  more  opinion  I  remember. 
"And  she  has  just  exactly  as  much  sense." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  13 

The  mother  was  just  the  opposite  of  the  girl — 
a  mystery  at  the  other  pole;  rosy,  where  the  girl 
was  white — and  especially  after  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon — for  she  rouged  wantonly  and  abomi- 
nably; strident,  where  the  girl  was  still;  strange 
and  suspected,  not  from  her  silence  but  her  much 
speaking;  insistent  beyond  all  precedent  in  her 
breaking  into  every  conversation  and  her  advertis- 
ing of  her  wondrous  daughter;  and  known  soon 
and  generally  behind  her  back — with  that  keen 
concern  for  the  sensibilities  of  others  which  pre- 
vails1 in  boarding  houses — by  a  name  equally  as 
kindly  and  striking  as  her  daughter's — as  the  Scar- 
let Cockatoo. 

These  then  were  the  two  strangers,  the  two  in- 
vaders of  the  matrimonial  territory  of  our  own 
women — the  two  rakish  craft,  as  old  Sam  Barsam 
would  have  said,  who,  appearing  suddenly,  had 
started  poaching,  contrary  to  all  women's  law,  in 
the  still,  protected  mare  clauswm  of  the  women  of 
Carthage. 

I  can  recall  with  considerable  sharpness  and  ac- 
curacy the  information  concerning  them  and  their 
purposes  which  I  received  while  reading  my  paper 
from  time  to  time  in  the  big  hall  before  dinner, 
from  the  whispering  women  who  were  wont  to 
gather  there  to  exchange  the  results  of  their  study 


14  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

of  the  two — more  especially  as  the  date  of  the 
Pageant  of  the  Roses  was  approaching. 

"Who  are  they?  Who  knows  who  they  are, 
anyway — any  more  than  on  the  first  day  that 
they  came?"  one  woman  would  inquire,  turning 
her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  stairway,  down 
which  the  mother  and  daughter  were  soon  to  come 
to  dinner. 

"Mrs.  Tusset  knows — you  can  bet  your  life  on 
that,"  another  one  would  say — that  black-eyed, 
up-and-coming  Belle  Davis. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  a  third  one —  that  Mrs. 
Ella  Armitage,  the  grass  widow — called  a  beauty 
once  herself  and  spoken  of  for  the  beauty  prize 
in  her  day.  "But  what  can  even  Mrs.  Tusset 
really  know?" 

"They're  adventuresses — that's  all  we  do  know," 
added  Julia  Blakelock,  the  first  speaker,  again. 
Though  scarcely  a  candidate  herself  at  this  some- 
what late  hour,  she  had,  I  had  been  informed,  a 
niece  who  had  been  mentioned  as  a  possible  ruler 
of  the  roses. 

"No,  we  don't.  We  don't  know  that  either," 
said  the  positive,  downright  Belle  Davis.  "All 
we  know  is1  what  they  showed  Mrs.  Tusset — where 
they  came  from.  They're  Fairborns — 'from  Fair- 
born  Courthouse,  Dell  County,  ma'am,'  "  she  went 
on,  mocking  a  sharp  voice  sufficiently  familiar  now 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  15 

to  all  of  us.  "  'From  the  old  Fairborn  plantation 
— the  largest  with  two  or  three  exceptions  in  old 
Dell  County,  ma'am.' " 

"Where's  Dell  County?"  inquired  the  thin-lipped 
Julia  Blakelock.  "What's  Fairborn  Courthouse? 
Do  you  know?" 

"Yes.     Certainly  I  know,"  replied  Belle  Davis. 

"When  were  you  ever  there?"  asked  Ella  Armi- 
tage,  surprised. 

"I  never  was.  But  I  know  jutft  the  same,  just 
what  it's  like — an  old  run-down  county  with  a 
courthouse  in  a  little  old  run-down  town,  with  two 
or  three  spotted  pigs  in  the  main  road,  and  a  jail, 
and  an  old-time  country  hotel  with  pillars,  and 
a  livery  stable  where  they  all  put  up  their  horses 
when  they  come  in  from  the  plantations  twice  a 
year,  when  there's  a  court  session." 

"Yes,"  said  Ella  Armitage.  "I've  seen  it  myself 
— near  enough,  anyhow.  But  how  do  we  know 
they  even  come  from  there?" 

"They  showed  that  much  to  Mrs.  Tusset.  They 
must  have — to  ever  get  in  here,  I  believe." 

"I  don't,"  said  Julia  Blakelock;  "I  don't  be- 
lieve anything  of  the  kind." 

"Why  not?" 

"For  one  mighty  good  reason." 

"What  reason's  that?" 

"Those  dresses.     That  wardrobe  of  the  girl." 


16  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

I  stopped  reading  now — gave  up  trying  to — and 
sat  there  behind  my  paper  drinking  in,  as  Sam 
Barsam  would  have  said,  the  quaint,  ancient  lore  of 
the  whispering  women's  trade  secrets — dresses, 
appearances,  little  manners — the  things  the  women 
talk  about  when  they  are  considering  and  trying 
to  estimate  another  member  of  their  craft. 

"Well,  what  of  it  ?"  Belle  Davis  wanted  to  know. 

"They  never  came  from  Fairborn  Courthouse 
— nor  any  other  place  like  you  describe.  You  can 
make  up  your  mind  to  that — not  those  extreme 
latest  dresses  on  that  girl  !" 

"And  yet  her  mother's  did.  It's  written  all 
over  them  and  her.  She's  just  nothing  but  a 
regular  old-time  small-town  Southern  belle — all 
loose  ends  and  ribbons  and  pink  parasol. 

"And  the  girl  herself  might  have  come  from 
there  too,"  said  Ella  Armitage.  "Maybe  that's 
why  she  don't  talk  any  more — to  cover  that  up." 

"No,"  said  Belle  Davis  in  that  positive,  down- 
right way  of  hers. 

"They  might  have  done  this,"  contributed  Ella 
Armitage.  Having  been  a  beauty  once  herself  she 
could,  I  assume,  speak  with  some  authority. 
"They  could  have  taken  her  to  sbme  good  dress- 
maker  " 

"Good  dressmaker !"  said  Julia  Blakelock  some- 
what sniffingly. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  17 

"Yes.     Good   dressmaker!"    said    Belle   Davis. 

"They  must  have  cost  a  small  fortune,"  said  Ella 
Armitage. 

"Yes.     But  who'd  wear  them?" 

"I  would — and  you  would,"  stated  Belle  Davis. 

"Yes.     If  we  wanted  to  be  conspicuous." 

"All  I  was  going  to  say,"  said  Ella  Armitage, 
going  back,  "was  that  they  might  have  taken  the 
girl  to  some  dressmaker  in  St.  Louis  or  Louisville 
and  given  her  carte  blanche  to  fit  her  out." 

"Some  theatrical  dressmaker  maybe — or  some- 
thing like  that,"  said  Belle  Davis,  nodding. 

"Accustomed  to  getting  up  women  for  the 
stage." 

"And  told  her  to  go  ahead." 

"Yes,"  said  Ella  Armitage,  the  author  of  the 
theory. 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired,  with  all  your  mysterious 
old  talk  about  these  people !"  said  Julia  Blakelock. 
"They  never  saw  Dell  County,  either  of  them. 
She's  just  a  common  adventuress  with  a  big,  com- 
mon, striking  daughter  for  sale.  It's  a  case  of  a 
girl  for  sale,  that's  all.  It's  written  all  over  both 
of  them.  One  calls  out  and  auctioneers  and  the 
other  poses.  I've  seen  hundreds  just  like  them." 

"The  woman's  common  enough,"  said  Ella  Ar- 
mitage. "You  see  her  all  over  the  South." 

"But  there's  nothing  common  about  that  girl," 


18  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

stated  Belle  Davis.  "Don't  you  fool  yourself.  I 
never  saw  anything  like  her  in  all  my  life.  She 
sits  there — day  after  day — like  a  girl  cf  ivory." 

"Not  an  idea  in  her  head." 

"No.     That  isn't  it." 

"Not  an  expression — not  a  particle  of  expres- 
sion in  her  face." 

"That's  more  it,"  said  Belle  Davis.  "That's 
what  I  was  trying  to  say." 

"What?" 

"That  it  isn't  whajt's  there  so  much  (that's! 
strange — as  what  isn't  there — what's  lacking." 

"Brains,"  suggested  Julia  Blakelock. 

"No." 

"What  is' it,  then?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell  you  exactly.  Only 
it  isn't  natural — for  a  girl  of  that  age.  I  can't 
explain  it  exactly.  But  it's  like  all  the  life — all 
the  spring — had  gone  out  of  her." 

"That's  perfectly  true,"  said  Ella  Armitage, 
"but  what's  strange  about  it?" 

"It's  terrible,  I  think,"  said  Belle  Davis ;  "per- 
fectly terrible." 

"Terrible?" 

"That  expression  on  her  face.  I  sit  and  study 
it.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  it  is  sometimes?" 
Belle  Davis  asked  them. 

"What?" 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  19 

"Fear." 

"Fear?" 

"Yes — in  both  of  them.  But  in  that  girl — that 
pale-faced  girl — especially.  Did  you  ever  notice 
them,"  she  asked — "especially  the  Cockatoo — 
just  before  the  postman  comes  every  day?" 

"I  don't  know  as  I  have,"  s"aid  Julia  Blakelock. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Ella  Armi- 
tage. 

"The  one  screaming  louder  and  louder." 

"And  the  other  one  stiller  and  whiter — like 
marble.  Or  getting  away  out  of  sight  entirely." 

"It  may  be  all  my  imagination,"  started  Belle 
Davis,  "but " 

"Hush!  Here  they  come  now,"  said  Julia 
Blakelock. 

And  the  door  upstairs  closed  and  the  two 
strange  women  were  coming  down  the  stairs — the 
chattering  mother  first,  the  white  silent  daughter 
following  her. 

That  was  the  first  hint  I  received — that  conver- 
sation— of  the  real  situation  as  it  developed. 


II 


TO  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  it 
was  two  nights  after  that  when  the  first  of 
the  telegrams  arrived;  an  occasion  which 
I  myself  witnessed  and  still  can  recall  with  con- 
siderable fullness  of  detail. 

It  was  the  night  of  some  species  of  rehearsal  for 
the  now  fast  approaching  pageant.  The  girl  had 
come  out  silent  and  alone  from  the  dining  room 
and  sat  silent  and  alone  and  indifferent  to  her  sur- 
roundings in  one  corner  of  the  room,  noticing  no 
one,  thinking — of  herself,  or  of  nothing  at  all  or 
of  s'ome  fearful  vision,  according  as  you  wanted 
to  believe. 

The  mother  was  having  what  was  denoted  in  the 
boarding  house  as  one  of  her  "wonderful  nights" 
• — 'screaming  with  exultation  or  apprehension  or 
relief  or  whatever  emotion  it  was  that  really  drove 
her,  and  calling  attention  even  more  plangently 
than  usual  to  the  wonderful  charms  of  her  wonder- 
ful child. 

The  reason  for  this  exalted  mood  was  not  un- 
known or  unadvertised  to  the  other  women  of  the 

House.     The  girl  and  her  mother  were  both  waiting 

20 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  21 

for  the  appearance  of  young  Clayborne  Gordon 
— Captain  Gordon  now — who  was  to  be  the  partner 
or  opposite  of  the  girl  in  the  main  tableau  of  that 
year,  the  tableau  of  Victory ;  and  whose  personal 
capture  by  these  invaders  of  our  peaceful  matri- 
monial seas  was  expected  now  by  competent  ob- 
servers to  be  announced  as  a  final  climax  for  the 
two  strangers*  day  of  triumph.  That  interpreta- 
tion certainly  received  more  or  less  corroboration 
from  the  manner  on  that  particular  night  of  the 
leader  in  the  matrimonial  raid — that  so-called 
Scarlet  Cockatoo. 

The  woman  raved  on — as  the  current  phrase 
went — about  the  girl,  in  shriller  and  louder  ac- 
cents, I  should  have  said  myself,  that  night  than 
ever  before. 

"Isn't  she  wonderful,  ma'am,  at  that  angle?" 
she  inquired  in  that  piercing  whisper  of  the  groupi 
she  was  holding  up  to  talk  to.  "Just  as  she  sits 
there  now?  So  unconscious  of  everything — of 
all  of  us." 

It  was  scarcely  credible  to  any  sane  mind  that 
the  girl  did  not  hear  her,  but  neither  in  motion 
nor  in  manner  did  she  give  the  slightest  evidence 
of  having  done  so.  She  sat — colour,  attitude  and 
expression  unchanged — looking  off  in  the  cold,  im- 
passive and  almost  stupid  manner  that  she  had, 
gazing  at  another  corner  of  the  room,  like  some 


22  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

one,  I  should  sometimes  have  said  myself,  who 
had  been  drugged.  It  was  the  one  defect  in  her 
really  remarkable  beauty — the  lack  of  any  ap- 
parent interest  or  zest  in  life. 

Apparently  her  mother  must  have  sensed  this 
too. 

"Virginia!"  she  called  sharply  across  the  room. 
"Virginia,  isn't  Captain  Gordon  rather  late?" 

By  this  I  assume  she  was  killing  two  birds  with 
one  stone — announcing  for  the  benefit  of  the  other 
women  the  approaching  advent  of  that  very  desir- 
able young  man  and  stirring  her  exhibit  up  to 
a  somewhat  needed  display  of  life.  You  may  have 
seen  horse  trainers  flick  blooded  horses  so,  maybe, 
pasbing  by  the  judges'  stand. 

The  girl  responded  at  best  indifferently. 

"I  don't  know,  mother,  I  am  sure,"  she  answered 
in  her  slow  rich  voice,  lapsed  again  into  her  moody 
silence  and  sat  there  silent  until  finally  her  escort 
came. 

Each  spring,  as  Omar  Khayyam  has,  I  think, 
neglected  to  point  out,  brings  forth  its  crop  of 
bridegrooms  as  well  as'  brides ;  and  with  us  an 
Emperor — in  fact,  if  not  in  name — as  well  as  an 
Empress  of  the  Roses.  And  Clayborne  Gordon, 
though  somewhat  hard  at  times  to  bear,  was  un- 
questionably the  Emperor  of  that  May.  He  had 
been  across  at  war — "near  though  not  too  near 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  23 

the  Front,"  as  was  said  by  our  rosy  friend,  Cupid 
Calvert,  the  women's  licensed  jester,  whom  our 
boarding  house,  like  all  other  boarding  houses, 
possessed.  And,  returning  late,  he  still  wore  his 
uniform  with  an  exaggerated  valour  and  stiffness, 
which  marked  him  even  more  than  before  the  Great 
War  from  his  fellow  men.  He  was,  as  some  one 
quite  rightly  said  of  him,  a  very  Gordon  of  the 
very  Gordons ;  born,  it  might  easily  be  believed, 
with  a  slightly  lifted  nostril,  which  made  him  some- 
thing of  an  impediment  to  joy  in  general  social 
life.  Yet  after  all  he  was  what  he  was — well  born, 
well  connected,  w'ell  supplied  with  means  by  the  re- 
cent bounteous  provision  of  Nature  and  war  for 
us  Southerners  in  our  war  cotton;  and  they  were 
few  and  far  between  who  failed  to  bow  down  be- 
fore him. 

He  greeted  the  gathering  in  Mrs.  Tusset's  hall 
with  a  courteous  indifference.  So  doubtless  Ju- 
piter might  have  bowed  to  villages  when  in  pursuit 
of  some  temporarily  favoured  maid.  And  the  two 
went  together  to  their  rehearsal  for  the  Victory 
tableau — and  the  possible  greater  victory  for  the 
Scarlet  Cockatoo  and  her  white  child,  with  the 
parrot's  voice  of  the  mother  screaming  wonderfuls 
after  them  like  a  litany.  It  was  a  wonderful 
night,  it  seemed,  for  a  wonderful  rehearsal  for 
what  was  to  be  a  wonderful  affair,  she  knew. 


24.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Have  a  wonderful  time!"  she  screamed  after 
them  as  they  passed  through  the  entrance,  and 
then  turned  back  again  to  twang  still  further  upon 
the  already  twitching  nerves  of  her  auditors. 

"You  just  ought  to  see  her  in  her  costume — as 
Victory,"  she  stated  in  a  general  and  somewhat 
ominous  silence.  "She  is  simply  wonderful, 
ma'am!  Her  shoulders — oh,  I  never  saw  them  so 
wonderful  as  they  are  in  that — so  snowy  white!" 

"Stop,  ma'am,"  said  Cupid  Calvert,  jumping 
up  in  mock  alarm  from  where  he  was  sitting,  "be- 
fore proceeding  any  further.  Remember  there 
are  gentlemen  present." 

"You  may  laugh,  sir,"  she  told  him  playfully, 
relieved  no  doubt  at  any  answer  whatever  from  the 
circumambient  silence,  "but  let  me  tell  you  that 
girl  has  the  most  wonderful  skin  in  all  the  world. 
I  am  her  mother — and  I  know.  Not  a  blemish — 
not  a  blemish  anywhere,"  she  announced,  including 
the  women  in  her  statement,  "on  her  whole  per- 
son." 

"Pardon  me,"  cried  the  amuser  of  the  women, 
starting  towards  the  door  and  stumbling  heavily 
over  his  feet,  "I  must  be  going,  ma'am ;  it  isn't 
safe  for  me  to  stay." 

The  guarded  laugh  which  followed  him  cheered 
on  the  woman  to  further  efforts  in  her  advertising. 

"No,"  she  said  to  him  when  he  turned  back 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  25 

again  grinning  his  broad  and  foolish  grin.  "But 
truly,  all  joking  aside,  isn't  she  wonderful?  Is 
it  any  wonder  I  am  so  proud  and  happy,  sir,  as 
her  mother,  after  bringing  her  up  and  rearing 
her  tenderly  all  these  years  myself;  and  lavishing 
everything  that  her  heart  desired  on  her — and  all 
that?  How  can  I  be  anything  else  but  proud  to 
see  how  it's  all  come  out?  How  all  the  men  are 
crazy  over  her !  Just  as  you  were  yourself — and 
are  right  now!"  she  ended,  touching  him  on  his 
coat  lapel  and  drawing  away. 

There  was  another  laugh  following  this  effort — 
a  real  laugh,  with  the  genuine,  somewhat  tart  fla- 
vour of  laughs  at  a  professional  laugher.  For  the 
career  and  personal  ambitions  of  Cupid  Calvert 
as  a  squire  of  dames,  or  a  fusser,  as  I  understand 
is  the  more  contemporary  expression,  were  more 
than  a  matter  of  common  report;  they  were  a 
subject  of  general  jest.  And  no  one  present  had 
forgotten  the  ill  success  of  the  youth's  earlier 
efforts  to  awaken  the  attention  of  the  cold  and 
indifferent  girl,  nor  his  silent  and  somewhat  red- 
dened retreat  after  various  specific  attacks. 

"You  know  it.  You're  like  all  the  rest  of  the 
men.  All  of  you  are  just  the  same,"  said  the 
mother  and  exhibitor  of  Snowy  Shoulders,  clearly 
encouraged  and  emboldened  by  the  rare  stimulus 
of  a  general  appreciation  of  her  conversational 


26  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

powers  and  by  her  opponent's  unreadiness  of  im- 
mediate reply.  "You  simply  can't  resist  her.  Oh, 
I  know.  I  was  just  like  her  at  her  age,"  she  added 
for  heaping  good  measure.  "All  admirers  and 
beaux  and  ribbons  and  dances.  All  the  wonderful 
times  a  real  Southern  girl  has  when  she's  popular. 
Ain't  that  just  the  simple  truth?"  she  asked  in  a 
general  appeal  to  the  other  women. 

And  just  at  that  moment —  the  height  of  exu- 
berance and  playfulness — fate,  it  seemed,  chose 
to  strike;  and  that  first  telegram  arrived.  The 
messenger  boy  must  have  passed  the  golden  girl 
herself  as  she  went  down  the  outside  walk  with  her 
golden  escort;  and  must  have  been  standing  there 
outside,  waiting  for  the  mother  to  finish  her  shrill 
ecstasies,  ringing  vainly  at  the  bell,  for  when 
nobody  answered  his  voice  called  out  through  the 
screen  door:  "A  telegram." 

"Who  for?" 

"Mis'  Fairborn.     Mis'  Leonora  Fairborn." 

The  woman — that  Scarlet  Cockatoo — whose 
real  name,  as  I  have  neglected  to  state  so  far,  this 
was  supposed  at  that  time  to  be,  stopped  talking 
suddenly,  her  smile  frozen  on  her  painted  face, 
like  a  scared  clown,  as  Cupid  Calvert  stated  after- 
ward. 

After  a  moment  she  stepped  out  and  took  the 
telegram  herself  at  the  door. 

"Sign  here,"  said  the  boy. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  27 

And  then,  when  she  had  signed  with,  I  thought, 
a  somewhat  shaky  hand  and  started  to  turn  away, 
"It's  collect,"  said  the  boy. 

"Collect !"  she  said  after  him,  in  a  voice  that  was 
sharp  and  faint  at  the  same  time. 

She  hadn't  the  money  with  her  for  it.  I  remem- 
ber that  quite  clearly,  for  I  myself  loaned  her  the 
necessary  sum,  which  she  afterward  failed  to  re- 
member to  repay. 

She  settled  with  the  boy  with  my  change  and 
turned  away — without  opening  the  yellow  envel 
ope  yet. 

"Any  answer?"  the  messenger  boy  asked  her. 

"Why  ?"  she  asked,  more  shrill  than  before. 

"They  told  me  there  might  be." 

"Wait,"  she  told  him.     "HI  see." 

Her  voice  sounded  still  sharper  and  more  appre- 
hensive. 

The  other  women  turned  themselves  away  with 
a  somewhat  exaggerated  and  vivacious  indiffer- 
ence, talking  together,  watching  her  out  of  the 
corners  of  their  eyes. 

"Have  you  got  a  pencil,  Judge  Dalrymple?" 
she  asked  me. 

I  didn't  have  one. 

"Here's  one,  lady,"  said  the  messenger  boy, 
and  handed  her  the  miserable  old  dirty  stub 
that  a  messenger  boy  usually  carries. 


28  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

She  took  it  and  went  over  to  the  writing  desk 
in  the  corner.  Her  telegram  was  not  opened 
yet. 

She  was  delaying  opening  it,  it  seemed  to  me. 

But  now  she  tore  it  open  with  a  flourish  and 
read  it  with  a  fixed  and  steady  smile.  And  then, 
after  a  pause,  seeing,  I  assume,  the  eyes  of  the 
other  women  on  her,  she  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed.  It  was  a  mistake  in  judgment,  so  all  the 
other  women  agreed  afterward.  The  laugh  was 
too  sharp ;  almost  hysterical,  I  thought  myself. 

"What's  the  joke?"  caUed  Cupid,  looking 
curiously  across  the  room. 

"Oh,  nothing.  Nothing,"  she  said ;  and  put  her 
telegram  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  and  started 
answering  it,  planting  the  blank  the  boy  had  given 
her  down  on  the  desk  with  a  decided  motion,  &s 
though  all  ready  to  start,  and  then  putting  the 
point  of  the  pencil  to  her  lips  and  sitting  there, 
considering. 

For  a  minute — maybe  two  minutes — she  sat 
there,  the  soiled  stub  of  the  messenger  boy  at  hei 
scarlet  lips,  a  fixed  steady  smile  on  her  face,  but 
no  motion  to  write.  The  eyes  of  the  whispering 
women,  who  were  gathered  round  a  bridge  table 
now,  were  all  the  time  furtively  regarding  her,  as 
she  doubtless  was  well  aware. 

She  was  unable  to  write  her  reply — that  was 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  29 

clear  finally;  evidently  not  being  able  to  collect 
her  thoughts. 

"Won't  the  little  pretty  words  come  to 
mamma?"  inquired  Cupid,  pushing  in,  as  usual, 
as  far  as  advisable. 

She  broke  off  her  writing  and  got  up — almost 
with  a  jerk. 

"Let  me  answer  it  for  you,  ma'am,"  continued 
Cupid.  "Let  me  do  it  for  you." 

"No,"  she  said  with  hectic  gaiety,  "I'm  going 
to  save  money.  I'm  going  to  answer  this  thing 
by  mail." 

She  gave  the  messenger  back  his  pencil  stub  and 
blank  and  sent  him  off.  And  then,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  she  started  back  across  the  hall,  going 
toward  the  stairway. 

"You  ain't  going,"  asked  Cupid  Calvert,  still 
pushing  her,  "without  telling  us  the  good  news?" 

"What  news?"  she  asked  back,  her  voice  sharp- 
ening again,  it  appeared  to  me  now,  in  spite  of  all 
she  could  do. 

"What  you  were  laughing  at.  What  made 
you  so  terrible  mighty  happy  in  your  telegram." 

"Certainly  I'll  tell  you.  Certainly,"  she  an- 
swered him  with  a  simple  offhand  gaiety.  "It's 
just  word  from  another  old  flame  of  Virginia's; 
sending  felicitations  on  her  first  stage  appearance, 
saying  he'd  certainly  be  here  on  the  great  day»" 


30  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"The  day  of  the  great  victory,"  said  Cupid, 
grinning  with  easy  significance. 

The  woman  laughed  again  with  that  extraordi- 
nary half  hysteria.  And  the  other  women  almost 
stopped  talking — at  her  somewhat  striking 
blunder. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Cupid," 
said  Belle  Davis,  filling  in  the  sudden  silence ;  "al- 
ways going  butting  into  other  folks'  business  like 
you  do  1" 

"You  don't  mind,  do  you?"  Cupid  asked  the 
mother  of  Virginia  with  a  mock  languorous  look. 
By  this  time  the  woman  had  gotten  over  to  the 
stairway,  still  wearing  her  fixed  and  rigid  smile, 
and  stood  temporarily  with  her  hand  clasping  the 
baluster. 

"Oh,  no.  No,  certainly  not,"  she  said. 
"Nothing  like  that — with  you,  Cupid!  But  one 
thing  I  wish  you  would  do-  for  me — all  of  you !"  she 
added,  taking  in  her  breath  so  sharp  that  it  was 
distinctly  noticeable.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  speak 
of  this — this  message — to  Virginia ;  or  allude  to  it 
in  any  way,  please.  I  want  the  whole  thing  to  be 
— to  be  a  surprise  to  her." 

"Oh,  certainly  not,  Mrs.  Fairborn,"  the  other 
women  told  her  warmly. 

And  then  she  smiled  that  hectic  smile  of  hers — 
"bright  roses  on  the  withered  snow,"  as  Cupid  said 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  31 

concerning  her  complexion — and  passed  brightly 
up  the  stairs,  her  step,  however,  it  appeared  to  me, 
lagging  considerably  as  she  approached  the  top. 

"Collect!"  said  Belle  Davis,  almost  before  the 
woman's  door  upstairs  was  closed.  "Felicitations 
collect!" 

"From  another  old  flame,"  said  Julia  Blakelock. 

"How  humouresque !"  said  Cupid,  that  being  the 
expression  he  was  most  favouring  with  his  prefer- 
ence at  that  time. 

"What  a  fool !"  added  Julia  Blakelock. 

And  the  women  went  on  then,  tearing  to  pieces 
the  other  woman's  awkward  hurried  lie. 

"What  a  fool  she  is!"  said  Julia  Blakelock 
again  through  her  thin  lips. 

"No,"  said  Belle  Davis. 

"What  is  she,  then?" 

"You  know  what  I've  been  telling  you  all  the 
time  about  the  postman — how  she  acted  just  be- 
fore he  came?" 

"What  of  it?" 

"Did  you  see  her  hands  go  when  she  first  took 
that  thing — that  telegram?" 

"I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Armitage. 

"And  how  she  sat  there  afterward,  with  that 
old  pencil  in  her  mouth — like  she  was  a  paralysed 
woman  ?" 

"What  of  it?"  the  Blakelock  girl  asked  again. 


32  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"That  woman's  scared  to  death,  that's  all," 
asserted  Belle  Davis.  "So  scared  she  didn't  know 
what  she  was  doing  or  saying — and  don't  yet!" 

"I  think  that  too,"  said  another  one — the  quiet 
little  older  woman  whom  Cupid  Calvert  named  the 
Sibyl — or  the  Pessimist  of  Our  Boarding  House. 

"It  must  have  been  quite  tol'able  excitin',"  said 
Cupid,  "whatever  it  was.     She  must  have  been  ex- 
pecting  something    right   interestin'.     She   was 
shiverin'  and  shakin'  long  before  she  started  open- 
in'  it." 

"A  guilty  conscience,  that's  all,  probably,"  as- 
serted Julia  Blakelock. 

"She  was  scared,  that's  all,"  Belle  Davis  said 
again,  "from  first  to  last,  so  she  didn't  hardly 
know  her  name!" 

"What  do  you  expect  was  in  that  thing — that 
telegram?"  asked  Julia  Blakelock. 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Ella  Annitage.  "I'd  give 
a  right  smart  piece  of  money  to." 

"I  certainly  would,"  said  Belle  Davis. 

"You  just  made  up  your  mind  to  know, 
chillun?"  inquired  Cupid  Calvert,  who  fell  easily 
into  negro  dialect  in  his  more  humourous  moods. 
"Is  your  mouth  just  waterin'  to  find  out?" 

"Certainly  is,"  said  Belle  Davis.     "Why  so?" 

"'Cause  if  you  is,  honey,  here's  the  boy,  maybe, 
who  kin  find  the  way  to  git  it  for  you ;  who's  got 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  33 

a  special  particular  means  that  ev'ybody  don' 
have  at  his  'sposal." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Belle  Davis.  "I  know  it. 
I  know  the  special  means  myself.  It  has  yellow 
hair  and  peekaboo  waists  and  stands  looking  out 
the  telegraph-office  window  all  day  long,  eating 
on  a  lead  pencil." 

"Ne'mind.  Ne'mind,"  said  Cupid,  who  prided 
himself  rather  than  otherwise,  I  always  claimed, 
on  the  diversification  of  his  interests  in  the  fair 
sex.  "Only — you  just  watch  this  boy!" 

"What  do  you  think,  judge?"  asked  Belle 
Davis,  bringing  me  into  it  finally. 

"Think— about  what?" 

"About  that  telegram.  Was  she  scared  or 
wasn't  she?" 

"'She'd  better  be,  if  she  isn't  now,"  I  said. 
"With  all  you  whispering  women  after  her — with 
your  trained  sleuth  hound." 

"Our  reputation  hound,  eh,  judge?"  Belle  Davis 
asked  me,  laughing. 

"Yes  ma'am,"  I  said.  "You  hit  it  there  ex- 
actly. That's  just  the  title.  They'll  never  es- 
cape you  and  your  reputation  hound.  He'll  run 
them  down  before  he's  finished." 

"How  humouresque  you  are,  judge,"  said 
Cupid  Calvert. 


m 


WHETHER  or  not  the  chain  of  events 
proceeding    from    this    first    telegram 
might  under  other  circumstances  have 
resulted  otherwise  and  less  disastrously  for  the 
two  women,  I  am  unprepared  to  state.     Yet  in 
few  circumstances  that  I  can  represent  to  myself 
would  the  hunt  that  started  after  them  with  the 
coming  of  that  document  have  been  organized  so 
expeditiously  and  got  under  way  so  fast. 

"Curiosity,"  old  Sam  Barsam  used  to  remark, 
"is  the  strongest  appetite  of  the  human  soul.  It 
lures  the  budding  mind  of  the  infant  to  its  sweet 
unfolding;  it  drives  the  parched  and  sandy 
traveller  through  the  tawny  wastes  of  the  Sahara. 
When  all  else  has  failed — when  teeth  are  gone  and 
eyesight,  and  reason  totters,  and  ears  threaten  to 
fall  off — still  curiosity  remains  unshaken  on  its 
throne,  a  pledge  and  presage  of  immortality;  and 
reaches  its  grandest  height  in  some  senile  woman 
in  a  boarding  house." 

In  any  boarding  house,  he  might  have  said,  in 

my  opinion.     In  any  place  where  woman  meets 

34 


35 

woman  face  to  face  continually  under  one  common 
roof,  observing  each  other's  souls  and  bodies  and 
complexions  in  dishabille,  curiosity  must  and  will 
be  served — and  most  especially  in  an  exclusive 
and  careful  boarding  house  like  Mrs.  Tusset's — 
in  the  fierce  light  which  shines  upon  social  centres. 

I  cannot  speak  for  others,  but  I  felt  reasonably 
assured  myself  that  our  smiling  friend,  Cupid 
Calvert,  would  arrive  that  evening  with  the  con- 
tents of  that  fateful  telegram  while  I  sat  reading 
my  paper  in  the  hall  before  dinnertime.  No 
better  social  retriever  could  be  invented  than  this 
jovial  young  dog.  He  had,  in  fact,  the  so-called 
social  gift,  the  many  opportunities  of  the  jovial 
for  collecting  information,  and  with  his  special 
opportunity  in  this  particular  case  he  could 
scarcely  fail  to  bring  back  to  his  waiting  friends 
and  patrons,  the  whispering  women,  the  news  mat- 
ter he  could  get  for  them  from  their  sister,  that 
massive  blonde  with  stately  figure  and  gold  hair 
piled  up  like  a  great  golden  pitcher  on  her  head, 
with  whom  I  had  not  infrequently  myself  seen  him 
conversing  in  the  telegraph  office. 

It  was  evident  to  me  at  least  from  the  mere  dis- 
play of  teeth  as  he  came  in  the  door  that  evening 
that  he  had  not  been  unsuccessful  in  the  main 
business  of  his  day. 

"Guess  what  papa  brought  you  home  tonight?" 


36  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

he  asked  the  waiting  group  who  were  there  upon 
his  entry. 

"We  know !"  said  the  lively  Belle  Davis.  "We 
know!" 

And  Julia  Blakelock  came  forward,  without 
further  or  unnecessary  remark. 

"You  never  would  betray  me,  would  you?"  he 
asked  them,  chuckling  and  holding  them  off. 
"Cross  your  heart.  You  never  would  let  on  you 
heard  from  me?  'Cause  this  is  serious  business, 
you  understand." 

"Never.  Never.  Nobofly'll  ever  know  from 
us!"  Belle  Davis  promised  him. 

"Well,  here  it  is!"  he  told  them  finally.  "I 
went  and  copied  it  down  my  own  self."  And  he 
brought  it  out  for  them  to  read. 

That  Belle  Davis,  being  the  quickest  of  the  lot, 
grabbed  it  first  and  started  reading.  Her  full 
round  face  got  red  with  excitement. 

"My  good  Lord!"  she  said. 

"Read  it,"  said  Cupid. 

"Go  ahead.  Read  it.  Out  loud,"  said  Julia 
Blakelock.  And  she  did. 

It  ran,  to  the  best  of  my  memory,  this  way: 

"So  you  should  make  a  get-away?  Now  you 
come  through.  Five  hundred — by  Saturday. 
Or  letters  start.  Wire  answer.  A.  G." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  37 

"What's  this?"  asked  Ella  Armitage. 

"A  get-away?  What's  a  get-away?"  inquired 
Julia  Blakelock. 

"It  sounds  to  me  like  a  city  slum,"  said  Belle 
Davis. 

"It    is,    I   expect,"    Cupid    Calvert    told   her. 

"A  get-away?"  asked  the  Blakelock  girl  again. 
"What  is  it?  Tell  me." 

"Don't  pretend  you  don't  know,  Julia,"  Belle 
Davis  told  her. 

"I  don't.     Do  you?" 

"It's  just  cheap  talk  for  escape,  Julia  dear," 
explained  Cupid  Calvert. 

"Escape?"  said  the  Blakelock  woman.  "Who 
from?" 

"From  A.  G.,  probably." 

"A.  G.?"  Belle  Davis  asked  him.  "Who's 
A.  G.?" 

"You  kin  search  me,"  said  Cupid.  "All  I 
know's  just  what  you  see — from  just  right  there. 
A.  G. — from  St.  Louis." 

"Is  that  where  it's  dated  from?"  asked  Mrs. 
Armitage. 

"See!"  said  Belle  Davis,  reading  the  date  line 
and  going  over  the  thing  again.  "Five  hundred 
— by  Saturday !  You  know  what  it  is,  don't  you? 
It's  blackmail." 

"You  might  think  thataway,"  said  Cupid, 


38  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"By  some  criminal — some  low-down  creature," 
stated  Julia  Blakelock. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?  How  do  you  get 
all  this?"  the  Davis  girl  asked  her  back. 

"It's  right  there,  isn't  it — plain  as  day?  Just 
the  way  that's  written." 

"Blackmail!"  said  Ella  Armitage,  speculating. 
"What  power  could  a  man  like  that  have  over 
them?" 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Belle  Davis. 

"There's  nothing  very  strange  or  mysterious 
about  it  that  I  can  see,"  stated  the  Blakelock 
woman.  "It's  just  what  I  said  from  the  begin- 
ning. They're  just  two  common  adventuresses 
from  St.  Louis — that's  what  they  are.  Only 
worse,  probably,  than  we  suspected  at  first. 
Two  creatures  from  the  slums  of  St.  Louis." 

"You  sure  are  ridiculous,  Julia,"  said  Belle 
Davis,  "when  you  once  get  started,  ain't  you?" 

"Not  this  time,  I'm  not.  I  said,  and  I'll  say 
it  again,  they  never  saw  Dell  County  in  this  world. 
They're  just  two  common  low-down  adventuresses 
from  St.  Louis." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Belle  Davis. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  know  they're  not,  that's  all.  The  way 
they  act — the  way  they  are.  The  girl's  dresses 
might  have  come  from  St.  Louis ;  but  she  never  did 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  39 

— nor  her  mother.  And  I  don't  believe  they  are 
that  kind — the  girl  certainly  isn't." 

"What  did  they  come  here  for?"  asked  Ella 
Armitage,  "it — " 

"That's  easy,"  Julia  Blakelock  answered, 
"Men— for  the  girl!" 

"One  will  be  enough,"  said  Cupid  Calvert. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,  either,"  said  the 
Blakelock  woman. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Julia,"  said  Belle  Davis,  get- 
ting red.  "They're  here  to  sell  off  the  girl  maybe 
— but  no  more." 

"I  believe  that,"  said  Ella  Armitage. 

"And  even  then  the  girl  don't  do  her  part — 
even  at  that.  She  never  runs  after  the  men — 
you've  got  to  say  that." 

"She  don't  have  to,"  said  Julia  Blakelock. 
"Her  part  is  to  pose — while  her  mother  pulls 
them  in." 

And  they  went  back  to  the  telegram  again. 

"A.  G. — that's  all  you  know?"  Belle  Davis 
asked  Calvert.  "Cross  your  heart?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  That's  all  I  could  find  out 
here,"  said  Calvert. 

"No  wonder  she's  restless,"  observed  Belle 
Davis. 

"Who's  that?"  asked  young  Calvert  all  of  a 
sudden,  looking  in  my  direction. 


40  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Oh,  that's  just  the  judge,"  Belle  Davis  said,  re- 
assuring him,  and  came  over  to  me  in  my  corner. 

"What  do  you  think,  judge?"  she  asked  me. 

"Think— about  what?" 

"Oh,  you  know  well  enough !  About  those  two 
women — the  White  Shoulders  and  her  mother?" 

And  she  started  showing  me  the  telegram. 

"Take  it  away,"  I  said  to  her.  "I  don't  want 
to  be  implicated  in  this.  I  can't  afford  to  be 
when  they  bring  you  up  before  me  from  the  Grand 
Jury." 

"The  Grand  Jury!"  they  said  after  me. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  For  going  in  and  stealing  mes- 
sages from  the  telegraph  company.  Don't  you 
know  that's  an  indictable  offence — or  ought  to  be 
if  it  isn't?" 

"You're  fooling  now,  judge,"  said  Calvert,  with 
a  kind  of  crooked  grin  on  his  face.  He  wasn't 
a  very  stout-hearted  animal. 

"You'll  see,"  I  told  him. 

"But  look,  judge!"  said  Belle  Davis,  bold  and 
undismayed  as  ever.  "Ain't  it  right,  when  you 
know  folks  are  doing  wrong,  to  try  and  expose 
them?" 

"All  I  know  is,  "  I  said,  "you  want  to  be  careful 
and  step  kind  of  light.  You  might  get  in  trouble 
yourself!"  And  I  went  upstairs  and  washed  my 
hands  for  dinner. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  41 

However,  I  knew  now  about  the  telegram — like 
everybody  else  did;  and  watched  with  the  rest 
those  two  go  along  with  whatever  it  was  hanging 
over  them.  The  time  to  their  day  of  victory — as 
it  was  now  quite  commonly  called — was  growing 
mighty  short.  It  was  on  Saturday  of  that  week. 
And  as  it  came  along  the  strain  must  have 
grown  pretty  strong — especially  on  the  Scarlet 
Cockatoo. 

Every  day,  it  seemed,  the  contrast  between  the 
mother  and  daughter  got  sharper  and  sharper. 
The  mother  talked,  always  louder  and  more 
shrill — concerning  the  old  plantation,  and  the 
raising  and  the  dressing  of  the  wonderful  girl  from 
her  beginning,  the  exceeding  great  whiteness  of  her 
skin,  her  ribbons,  her  hats,  her  French  knots  upon 
her  baby  clothes,  the  lavishing  upon  her  of  all  that 
heart  could  desire  from  a  child  and  the  wild  appre- 
ciation of  it  now  by  all  the  men. 

And  all  the  time  t]jat  this  was  going  on — within 
earshot,  to  say  the  least — the  girl,  White  Should- 
ers, would  sit  alone,  oblivious,  indifferent,  appar- 
ently impervious;  thinking  her  own  thoughts — 
more  silent  and  statuesque  than  ever. 

"Is  she  an  absolute  fool?"  the  Blakelock  woman 
kept  asking.  "She  must  know  about  that  tele- 
gram— whatever  it  is  there  that's  driving  the 
mother  screaming  crazy." 


42  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"That's  where  you're  wrong,"  Belle  Davis  told 
her. 

"You  mean  to  stand  there  and  tell  me  that  girl 
don't  know  about  what  was  in  that  telegram?" 

"That's  just  exactly  what  I  mean.  She  meant 
just  what  she  said — the  mother — when  she  talked 
to  us  that  night.  She  don't  want  the  girl  to  know 
about  that  thing.'* 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know  thai,  naturally.  Unless  she 
might  hope  she  could  settle  it  herself  some  way — 
before  the  great  event !" 

For  it  was  generally  conceded  now  among  the 
whispering  women  that  the  victory  day,  the  Pa- 
geant of  the  Roses,  was  about  to  bring  out  the 
announcement  of  the  final  chapter  of  the  magnif- 
icent and  self-contained  Captain  Gordon. 

"Somebody  ought  to  tell  him,"  observed  Julia 
Blakelock. 

"Who?"  asked  the  Davis  girl. 

"Clayborne  Gordon." 

"That's  a  nice  idea.  Why  don't  you?"  asked 
Belle  Davis. 

"Maybe  I  will,"  stated  the  Blakelock  woman, 
not  backing  down  an  inch.  "Somebody  certainly 
ought  to." 

"I  hope  something  will  happen  soon  one  way  or 
the  other  to  end  this  thing  and  shut  that  mother 
up,"  said  little  Mrs.  Pennyworth,  the  small 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  43 

little  brown  woman  whom  Cupid  Calvert  called  the 
Boarding-House  Pessimist.  "Or  we'll  go  crazy — 
if  she  don't." 

"She's  so  happy  it  hurts,"  said  Cupid. 

"Worse  than  that.  It  deafens  you,"  said  Belle 
Davis. 

"It's  just  driving  me  crazy,  that's  all,"  said  the 
Pessimist  briefly. 

And  then,  right  after  that,  on  the  third  day 
after  the  first  one,  the  second  telegram  arrived. 
The  Cockatoo  had  evidently  done  what  she  said 
she  would — sent  on  her  answer  by  mail.  And  the 
second  telegram  was  in  answer  to  this.  It  ran 
something  about  like  this: 

"Coming  down  to  look  you  over.  See  you 
later.  A.  G." 

You  might  almost  have  known  mere  was  some 
new  nervous  strain  from  just  sitting  listening  to 
the  Cockatoo — to  her  terrific  outbursts  of  joy 
and  laughter. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  noise  in  your  life?" 
said  Belle  Davis,  looking  over  across  the  room 
where  the  woman  was  talking. 

"And  that  girl — what  do  you  suppose  she  is 
thinking  about?  How  can  you  claim  she  don't 
know  what's  going  on — those  telegrams?"  asked 
Julia  Blakelock. 

"That  would  give  her  more  brains  than  you 


44.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

claim  she's  got,"  Belle  Davis  answered  her — "if 
she  could  act  out  indifference  like  that." 

"Maybe  she  just  thinks  it's  all  part  of  the 
coming  nuptial  noise.  The  praise  service  over 
Clayborne  Gordon,"  observed  Ella  Armitage. 

"She  looks  worse  to  me  every  day,"  said  Cupid 
Calvert,  who  had  stood  studying  the  mother  with 
that  calm  brazen  look  he  had  when  he  wasn't  grin- 
ning. "Even  with  all  that  paint  on.  She  looks 
more  like  a  scared  clown  than  ever." 

"She  certainly  sounds  like  one,"  said  Belle 
Davis. 

"I  wonder  what  he'll  be  like  when  he  comes?" 
asked  Ella  Armitage. 

"Who?" 

"  A.  G." 

"What  I  wonder  is,  how  we'll  get  to  see  him." 

"Oh,  you'll  get  to  see  him  all  right,"  I  told  them, 
chiming  in.  "Leave  that  to  our  friend  Cupid. 
He'll  know  all  about  him.  Your  good  old  reliable 
reputation  hound  will  smell  him  out  before  the 
ink's  dry  on  the  hotel  register." 

I  left  them  exchanging  speculations  as  to  who 
the  blackmailer  might  be,  what  relation  he  had  to 
the  women  and  what  the  two  had  done  that  he  held 
them  with — all  the  dark  and  racy  possibilities 
which  lurked  in  the  situation — and  no  doubt 
several  more. 


IV 


FOR  awhile  it  looked  to  me  as  if  the  Fair- 
born  woman  had  slipped  them;  as  if  in 
one  way  or  another  this  A.  G. — this 
blackmailer,  as  he  was  then  believed  to  be — might 
have  eluded  the  other  women  and  their  assistant. 
The  preparation  with  joy  and  laughter  and  gar- 
lands for  the  festival — the  day  of  victory — pro- 
ceeded, the  happy  clamour  of  the  Scarlet  Cock- 
atoo rising  above  all  the  rest.  And  still  there  was 
no  visible  appearance  of  the  mysterious  telegra- 
pher from  St.  Louis. 

It  was  the  day  before  the  festival — that  evening 
preceding  supper — when  I  saw  finally  that  some- 
thing had  occurred,  from  the  beaming  countenance 
of  our  jovial  young  friend  Calvert. 

"You're  a  nice  crowd,"  he  was  telling  the  women 
in  the  hallway. 

"Why?" 

"Do  you  know  who  was  here  today?" 

"No.     Who?" 

"He  was." 

"He — who's  he?"  cried  Belle  Davis,  all  excite- 
ment. 

45 


46  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

He  didn't  even  answer  that.  He  knew  she  un- 
derstood. 

"Right  here  under  your  noses,"  he  told  her. 

"Who?"  she  asked  again. 

"Here — take  a  look  at  this!"  he  said,  and 
brought  out  that  printed  card,  which  they  showed 
me  afterward: 

A.  GLUBER 

183  N— St., 

St.  Louis,  Mo. 

COSTUMES  EASY    PAYMENTS 

"For  heaven's  sake !  A  dressmaker !"  said  Belle 
Davis,  and  stuffed  her  handkerchief  into  her  mouth 
to  stop  her  laughing. 

"A.  Gluber.  Costumes.  Easy  payments,"  the 
Blakelock  woman  read  over  slowly. 

"Weren't  we  the  burbling  boobs,"  asked  Cupid, 
"not  to  get  it  before?" 

"The  mysterious  blackmailer,"  said  Belle  Davis. 
"Ain't  that  the  screamingest !" 

"And  that's  all  it  was,"  said  Julia  Blakelock  in 
a  little  small  voice  like  she  was  disappointed.  "A 
dressmaker !" 

"Isn't  that  enough?"  asked  Ella  Armitage. 
"Isn't  that  enough?" 

"No,"  said  Cupid,  "not  for  Julia.  She  was 
looking  for  some  real  revelations." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  47 

"There  might  be  some  yet,"  suggested  Belle 
Davis. 

"Some  what?" 

"Revelations.  Supposing  they  hadn't  paid  for 
them — all  their  instalments." 

"Which  is  just  what  they  haven't  done,  prob- 
ably," said  the  Blakelock  woman. 

"And  supposing  he  went  and  took  them  all 
away !" 

"And  left  her " 

"Without!" 

"Oh,  that  would  be  terrible !" 

"You'd  think  so,"  stated  Belle  Davis,  "if  some- 
body came  and  took  all  your  clothes  away — the 
day  before  what  you'd  planned  for  for  weeks — 
to  show  yourself — at  the  announcement  of  your 
engagement." 

"It  would  be  funny,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Pardon  me?"  asked  Calvert,  making  up  a  face 
like  he  was  shocked.  ''What?" 

"If  they  took  all  that  stuff  back  and  left  her 
just  a  few  old  duds." 

"What  a  crab  you  are,  Julia,"  said  Belle  Davis 
to  her  with  her  usual  frankness. 

And  then  they  started  questioning  Calvert. 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"Who?"  he  asked  them,  pretending  not  to 
understand. 


48  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"That  dressmaker!" 

"No.     Not  yet." 

"Then  how'd  you  get  this?" 

"Ne'mind.  Ne'mind,"  he  said,  making  a  mys- 
tery of  it. 

What  he  had  done,  it  came  out  afterward,  was 
to  bribe  the  second  girl,  that  coffee-coloured  ne- 
gress,  Lucy,  and  she  had  managed  when  she  got  the 
card  at  the  front  door  to  keep  it  for  him  and  just 
announce  the  name  to  the  Fairborn  woman. 

"Do  you  know,  I  heard  her!  I  heard  her  go 
down  myself,"  said  Edla  Armitage,  "now1  you 
speak  of  it!" 

"And  White  Shoulders?" 

"She  wasn't  here,  I  don't  think,"  said  Belle 
Davis.  "I'm  pretty  mighty  certain  she  was  out 
all  this  afternoon  over  to  the  pageant  grounds. 
She  just  came  in  here  a  little  while  ago.  Clay- 
borne  Gordon  brought  her  over." 

"So  she  doesn't  know  anything  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Armitage. 

"So  you  say !"  said  Julia  Blakelock. 

"We'll  see  anyhow — at  dinnertime." 

"It  certainly  will  be  funny,"  said  the  Blakelock 
woman. 

The  other  woman — that  Scarlet  Cockatoo — 
would  have  been  surprised  in  spite  of  her  long  ex- 
perience if  she  had  realized  that  night  how  many 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  49 

eyes  were  studying  her — and  with  what  intimate 
knowledge  of  her  affairs. 

"It's  all  over,"  Belle  Davis  was  claiming  when 
I  heard  the  whispering  women  comparing  notes 
in  the  hallway  after  dinner.  "You'll  have  no 
amusement  tomorrow,  Julia.  Your  day  is 
ruined." 

"Ruined?" 

'^She's  fixed  it  up  with  the  dressmaker." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"How  can  you  help  knowing — from  her  voice. 
From  that  laugh — from  just  the  look  on  her 
face." 

She  confirmed  what  I  had  thought  myself.  The 
girl  was  just  as  usual.  The  hectic  joy  of  the 
mother  had  abated  to  what  it  was  before  the  com- 
ing of  the  first  mysterious  telegram. 

"How  would  she  fix  it  up?"  asked  Julia  Blake- 
lock,  still  grudging  and  disputing. 

"How  could  she  help  it — when  she  had  shown 
the  dressmaker  about  tomorrow — the  day  of  vic- 
tory— and  the  announcement  that  Clayborne  Gor- 
don is  to  pay  her  bills  from  this  time  forth?" 

"Is  that  funny  or  not?"  inquired  Cupid  Calvert, 
grinning  his  blandest,  most  vacant  grin.  "You 
talk  about  paying  the  bills  for  your  own  hang- 
ing 1" 

"Somebody  ought  to  tell  him,"  said  Julia  Blake- 


50  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

lock.  "That's  all.  Before  he  falls  into  the  hands 
of  those  two  imposters." 

"I  won't,"  said  Cupid.     "I  love  him  too  much !" 

"There  won't  anybody,"  said  Belle.  "For  just 
that  same  reason." 

It  was  the  general  belief  among  the  women  that 
night  that  everything  would  go  through  that  next 
day,  that  day  of  victory,  for  the  mother  and 
daughter,  exactly  as  was  now  commonly  under- 
stood to  be  the  program — first  the  tableau  of 
Victory,  the  crowning  of  the  Empress  of  the  Roses 
and  then  the  formal  announcement  of  the  sur- 
render and  capture  of  Captain  Gordon. 

What  did  occur  of  course,  though  logical 
enough,  was  due  just  to  a  chapter  of  accidents. 


THE  Pageant  of  the  Roses  of  that  year  took 
place — as    it    had    in    many    others — at 
Bellevoir,  the  estate  of  our  Colonel  Rob- 
ert Bragdon.     I  was  there,  together  with  all  the 
other  residents  of  the  town,  with  but  few  and  tri- 
fling exceptions.     I  sat  well  back  in  the  temporary 
amphitheater,  which  was  eracted  as  usual  under 
the  trees  on  the  natural  slope  of  the  so-called 
grotto. 

At  two-twenty-five,  just  five  minutes  before  the 
exercises  were  supposed  to  begin,  I  observed  for 
the  first  time  the  short  squat  man  in  striped  clothes 
three  seats  ahead  of  me.  Cupid  Calvert  going  by 
called  my  attention  to  him. 

"Did  you  get  a  good  look  at  him?"  he  asked  me. 

"Who?"  I  inquired  back. 

"A.  Gluber,  of  St.  Louis." 

"Who— that?"  I  said.     "A  dressmaker!" 

"Yes.     The  one  with  the  ears." 

"He  looks  like  there  might  have  been  toads  in 
his  ancestry,"  I  told  him. 

"You  see  a  lot  of  them  like  that,"  he  said,  "in 
the  cities — in  certain  parts.  Dressed  up  like  that 
too." 

51 


52  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"I  expect  you  do,"  I  said,  "if  you  frequent  those 
parts!" 

"They've  all  seen  him  now.  They're  all  talking 
him  over.  They're  all  wise,"  he  said,  "about  the 
instalment  dressmaker  and  his  bill." 

"Trust  you,"  I  told  him. 

He  grinned  like  I  had  given  him  a  compliment. 

"All  but  Gordon,"  he  said. 

"It's  an  undying  wonder  to  me,"  I  told  him, 
"that  you  haven't  let  him  know." 

"Damn  Gordon !"  he  said,  grinning  a  little  sour 
grin.  "Let  him  have  her.  He  deserves  her." 
And  he  went  on  to  pass  along  the  good  news  to 
others,  I  presume. 

I  could  hear  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  the 
Scarlet  Cockatoo  laughing,  apparently  in  fine 
feather.  She  couldn't  see  and  didn't  know,  it 
seems,  that  the  man  was  there,  nor  suspect  the 
whispering  that  was  going  on  behind  her.  And 
then  just  before  the  thing  began  I  heard  that 
Child  of  Hell  of  Cole  Hawkins  come  up  the  drive, 
barking  like  a  great  dog,  and  stop — shut  off 
suddenly,  the  way  he  ran  it. 

"He'll  kill  somebody  with  that  machine  yet," 
said  my  neighbour  just  beyond  me,  looking  back. 

Then  just  before  the  thing  started  the  boy  came 
and  flung  himself  into  the  seat  beside  me,  his  face 
and  neck  red  from  hurrying.  He  had  been  drink- 
ing again ;  I  saw  that.  He  would  have  liquor,  law 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  53 

or  no  law;  more,  it  seemed — like  some  others — 
since  the  law  was  on  than  before. 

"Hello,"  he  said  to  me  in  that  hoarse  voice  he 
had  when  he  was  that  way. 

"Hello,  Cole,"  I  told  him.  And  then  the  thing 
started. 

"I  came  late,"  he  explained  in  an  overload  whis- 
per, "so's  to  miss  the  cackling." 

He  had  the  reputation  of  a  woman  hater, 
especially  since  he  came  back  after  his  big  dis- 
appointment, his  accident  on  the  aviation  field  and 
his  grudge  against  the  world  in  general.  "The 
squawking  sex,"  he  called  them;  "the  cacklers," 
and  got  out  of  the  way  and  avoided  them  whenever 
possible. 

"Hush  up !"  I  told  him.     "They're  starting  in." 

The  spring  festival  of  love  and  matrimony  was 
under  way  once  again — the  new  crop  of  marriage- 
able or  almost  marriageable  daughters  displayed 
on  the  raised  platform  in  the  latest  spring  styles 
of  dress  and  posture.  The  mothers,  with  their 
best  hats  and  stiffest  smiles  and  dresses,  watched — 
principally  their  own  offspring — from  below;  all 
making  a  curious  and  diverting  study,  as  old 
Judge  Pendleton  used  to  say  about  the  affair,  for 
a  traveller  from  the  antipodes — like  all  our  tribal 
customs  dealing  with  matrimony. 

The  great  change  was  accomplished,  which  our 
portion  of  the  race  demands — the  lengthening  of 


54  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

the  skirt,  the  raising  of  the  hair ;  all  the  set  tribal 
advertisements  that  the  noisy  natural  happy  hu- 
man child  has  now  been  broken  for  the  bonds  of 
matrimony.  But  even  more  wonderful  than  this, 
our  traveller  would  observe,  was  the  firm  stoical 
unconsciousness  in  the  manners  and  the  faces  of 
both  the  exhibitors  and  the  exhibited  of  the  real 
and  critical  significance  of  this  chief  and  most 
trying  ordeal  of  a  woman's  life — of  the  great  main 
question  of  whether  or  not  in  the  scant  half  dozen 
years  the  new  offering  would  be  taken. 

The  Rose  Pageant  we  were  watching  was  no 
different  from  those  in  other  years,  except  for  its 
chief  keynote,  the  military  note,  a  note  common 
enough  in  that  year,  I  assume,  all  over  our  land — 
as  could  be  expected,  especially  when  the  well- 
known  piquancy  which  war  costumes  give  to  young 
women's  charms  is  considered. 

Beginning  with  the  younger  and  less  practised, 
then,  the  celebration  moved  always  forward,  with, 
let  us  say,  an  increasing  and  cumulative  display  of 
charm,  the  military  motive  furnishing  a  contrast 
of  exceptional  success  in  the  method  of  exhibit — 
beauty  in  armour — soft,  fragile  flesh  encased  in 
hard  forbidding  steel — a  masquerade  attractive 
to  mankind  since  the  first  legend  of  the  Amazons 
and  the  grand  old  red-headed  goddesses  of  Scan- 
dinavia. 

The  enthusiasm  arose  then  step  by  step  as  the 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  55 

height  and  closing  tableau  approached — the  cli- 
max of  the  day  of  victory ;  and  the  hour  drew  near 
for  the  chief  heroine  of  our  national  victory  and 
that  spring — the  final  triumph  of  the  girl,  White 
Shoulders. 

A  hush  came  as  she  appeared,  followed  by  the 
murmur  which  is  the  inarticulate  voice  a  human 
crowd  gives  to  its  emotions.  The  girl  was  cer- 
tainly wonderful — all  that  her  mother  had  claimed, 
and  more. 

She  was  Victory,  panoplied  and  crested — Vic- 
tory in  flesh  and  blood.  Straight-gowned  below, 
steel-helmeted  above,  a  spear  and  shield  in  her 
hand  and  on  her  arm — one  white  shoulder  deeply 
bared.  Athena,  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  had  no 
more  triumphant  or  warlike  beauty  than  this 
strange,  silent,  suspected  girl  when  she  first 
appeared.  Even  the  women  murmured  their 
approval.  She  was  Victory  herself  as  she  moved 
forward.  Even  the  man  beside  me,  the  hater  of 
women,  was  stirred. 

"She's  a  looker,  ain't  she?"  said  Cole  Hawkins 
to  me  in  a  loud  stage  whisper. 

"Shut  up,  Cole!"  I  told  him. 

It  was  planned,  as  I  learned  afterward,  that 
Clayborne  Gordon,  as  the  triumphant  hero,  and 
garbed  also  in  Grecian  costume,  should  approach 
from  the  other  side  of  the  sylvan  platform  and  be 
in  some  way  suitably  rewarded  by  the  goddess  for 


56  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

his  valor.  He  started  out  when  (Victory  had 
established  her  final  pose;  all  necks  were  craned. 

There  was  another  murmur — of  a  different 
kind;  another  statement  of  mass  emotion  by  the 
audience. 

"What's  this?"  said  Cole  Hawkins,  half  aloud, 
from  beside  me. 

Victory  had  lost  her  pose,  had  turned  half 
around,  was  looking  with  dilated  eyes  at  a  place 
in  the  audience. 

I  straightened  up  and  saw  the  man  myself — his 
striped  coat,  his  flashing  necktie  pin — as  he  raised 
his  short  fat  body  from  his  chair  to  stare  at  her. 

"No!  No!  No!  I  can't!  I  can't!  Not 
again !"  cried  Victory,  in  the  voice  of  a  half  fren- 
zied child. 

And  she  crashed  down  upon  her  armour,  her 
helmet  rolling  from  her  black  hair,  her  wonderful 
bare  white  shoulder  scratched  and  bleeding  from 
her  fall  upon  her  shield. 

The  words  were  perfectly  distinct  in  the  silence 
— were  heard  and  remembered  by  at  least  a  dozen 
I  spoke  to. 

And  following  that,  by  a  fraction  of  a  second, 
rose  the  well-remembered  voice  of  the  Scarlet 
Cockatoo :  "Virginia !  Virginia !  My  baby  1" 

She  was  up  on  the  stage  before  Captain  Gordon 
and  the  rest  of  them  had  taken  her  Victory,  her 
baby,  to  the  anteroom. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  67 

"Did  you  see  that?"  asked  Cole  Hawkins  beside 
me — his  face  redder  than  red  against  his  dead- 
black  hair.  "That  man  she  was  looking  at. 
What  the  hell's  going  on  here?" 

The  whole  place  was  buzzing  with  the  knowledge 
that  was  so  well  disseminated  now — concerning  the 
strange  dressmaker.  The  man  sat  there,  brazen- 
faced, like  his  kind  are,  bluffing  it  out,  waiting  for 
developments,  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  the 
attention  he  was  receiving.  I  told  my  young 
friend  Hawkins  about  him — what  I  knew — in  a 
word  or  two. 

"Is  that  so?"  he  said,  with  the  ugly,  insolent, 
lingering  emphasis  upon  the  last  word  that's  liable 
in  men  of  just  his  kind  to  come  before  some  ugly 
action.  And  before  I  knew  it  he  was  on  his  feet, 
out  of  his  seat  by  the  aisle  beside  me. 

"Cole,"  I  said,  "come  back  here!"  I  knew  nat- 
urally what  he  was  capable  of. 

But  he  went  straight  up  the  aisle  in  silence. 

In  back  of  the  flimsy  dressing  room  you  could 
hear  the  voice  of  the  Scarlet  Cockatoo  calling. 

"My  child!  My  child!  Virginia!  Virginia — 
wake  up !  It's  all  right.  It's  all  right." 

The  black-eyed,  black-haired  boy  walked  up  the 
aisle,  with  the  little  lameness  from  his  accident 
showing  in  his  slow  gait.  He  stood  there  by  the 
side  of  the  stranger  with  the  striped  coat  and  the 
diamond  horse-shoe  in  his  tie. 


58  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Stand  up,"  he  said  in  a  thick  low  voice,  with 
his  big  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder. 

It  was  an  outrageous  thing,  on  the  face  of  it. 
Several  of  the  men  sprang  up,  looking  for  trouble. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Cole  Hawkins  in  a  low  voice. 
"This  is  my  funeral." 

They  sat  down. 

"What  do  you  think  you're  doing?"  asked  the 
Stranger,  turning  a  dark  and  rather  puffy  face  up 
at  him. 

"Stand  up— didn't  I  tell  you?"  said  Cole  Hawk- 
ins ;  and  dragged  him  by  main  strength  from  the 
chair. 

"Cole,  you  fool!"  I  said,  taking  him  by  the 
elbow.  But  he  shook  me  off. 

"Who  do  you  think  you  are?"  inquired  A.  Glu- 
ber,  staring  at  him.  He  was  quite  a  strong  look- 
ing man,  for  a  dressmaker.  They  are,  quite  often 
I  understand.  But  he  didn't  use  strength  if  he 
had  it,  preferring  apparently  to  reply  on  his  voice 
and  ugly  look.  "Who  do  you  think  you  are?" 
he  inquired  again  trying  to  stare  Hawkins 
down. 

"I'm  the  man  that's  here  telling  you  about  the 
train  service." 

"Yeah  ?"  said  A.  Gluber,  his  stare  still  firm,  but 
with  no  physical  action  yet. 

"I  came  to  tell  you,"  said  Cole,  still  in  a  low 
ivoice,  staring  back  into  his  small  dull  eyes, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  59 

"there's  a  train  goes  up  north  in  just  about  an 
hour  from  now." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  asked  the  man. 

"That's  the  one  you're  going  on." 

"I  am,  huh?     Why  am  I?" 

"Because  I  don't  want  you  here  in  town." 

"Is  that  right?     Why?" 

"I  don't  like  your  face,  that's  why.  That's 
all.  Come  on  now." 

Instead  of  another  rough  reply  the  man  gave 
out  a  sudden  oath  now.  Hawkins  had  closed  his 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

Several  of  the  women  gave  little  cries.  But  the 
talk  was  low ;  no  one  could  hear  what  was  going  on, 
exactly,  but  those  of  us  who  stood  near  them. 

"Now,  lemme  tell  you  something,"  said  Cole 
Hawkins.  "I  ain't  going  to  urge  you.  But 
lemme  tell  you  something.  I  don't  like  your  face 
— but  I'm  telling  you  this  just  for  your  own  good. 
Your  going  on  the  five  o'clock  train — or  at  five-fif- 
teen the  angels  will  have  a  new  dressmaker  working 
for  them.  Come  now,"  he  said,  "come  on  over  to 
the  hotel.  We've  just  got  about  time." 

A.  Gluber  looked  round  once  or  twice  at  the 
other  faces  near  him  for  moral  support — but 
didn't  get  much. 

"This  ain't  right,"  I  did  say  to  Cole,  but  he 
shook  me  off  once  more.  And  they  went  out. 

"You  don't  want  to  fool  with  him,"  said  the  man 


60  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

beside  me,  "When  he's  like  that.  You  know  what 
he's  done  two  or  three  times  already.  Besides,  I 
didn't  care  much  for  that  fellow's  looks  myself." 

"Some  doin's,  judge.  Some  doin's,"  said  a 
voice  back  of  me,  and  I  turned  and  saw  Cupid 
Calvert  grinning.  "Quite  some  day  of  victory!" 

"What  are  they  doing  with  the  girl?"  I  asked 
him. 

"She's  come  to  all  right.  They're  taking  her 
and  the  Cockatoo  over  home  in  a  machine." 

"I  didn't  hear  the  mother,"  I  said,  "after  the 
first." 

"No,"  he  told  me.  "Wonderful  thing,  judge. 
She's  gone  silent — for  a  minute  or  two." 

"It  rather  postpones,"  I  said,  remembering, 
"the  announcement  of  that  engagement." 

"Postpones!"  he  said.  "Have  you  seen  Gor- 
don's face?" 

"No." 

"It's  just  starting  to  sink  in — the  meaning  of  it 
all.  He'll  get  it  all  before  night." 

"I'll  bet  on  that,"  I  said,  looking  at  him. 

"No  more  days  of  victory  like  this — for  me," 
said  Cupid,  pretending  to  be  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion off  his  face  with  his  handkerchief.  "It's  too 
much  for  my  frail  condition,  judge." 

I  went  over  to  my  office  and  sat  there  and 
smoked  and  tried  to  work  the  evidence  in  the  thing 
over  in  my  own  mind,  while  the  general  populace 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  61 

went    home    talking    and    whispering    about    it. 

I  could  understand  in  the  first  place  that  I  had 
seen  a  curious  thing — a  climax,  and  undoubtedly, 
as  it  looked  then,  the  collapse  of  a  woman's 
campaign;  a  strange,  unusual  speculation  in 
matrimony  by  these  two  strange  figures — mother 
and  daughter — if  that  was  what  they  really  were. 
For  we  were  all  at  sea  now. 

They  were  adventuresses  most  likely,  and 
financed,  we  might  conjecture,  in  their  enterprise 
by  this  fat  dressmaker  with  the  bloated  face.  But 
there  were  many  things  not  so  simply  explainable 
by  this  theory.  Who  were  they?  Were  they 
city  women,  or  what  they  looked — country  women 
with  city  clothes?  If  so  what  was  their  relation 
to  A.  Gluber,  dressmaker  or  costumer?  Why  the 
mother's  noisy  consternation  at  her  telegram? 
And  why,  above  all,  the  white  girl's  sudden  panic 
terror  when  she  saw  that  face  in  the  audience  and 
pushed  out  her  arms,  palms  outward,  like  a  child 
warding  off  a  haunting  danger  in  the  dark,  and 
cried  out:  "No!  No!  No!  I  can't!  I  can't 
Not  again!" 

The  whole  thing  brought  up  many  conjectures, 
which  to  my  mind  were  far  from  being  solved  by 
the  assumption  of  a  debt  to  a  dressmaker.  How, 
for  example,  would  that  explain  the  girl's  outcry 
— the  words  of  it:  "I  can't!  Not  again!" 


VI 


IT  WAS  between  sessions  with  me.  The  day 
after  the  Rose  Pageant,  about  three  o'clock, 
I  was  once  again  in  my  office  in  the  Beaure- 
gard  Block  when  the  door  opened  and  there  was 
Cole  Hawkins. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  him,  "you  certainly  made  a 
fine  public  scene  scaring  that  dressmaker  out  of 
town." 

"Maybe  I  did." 

"What  was  your  idea?"  I  asked  him.  "What 
started  you?" 

"I  told  you,  didn't  I?  I  didn't  like  the  looks  of 
his  face." 

"You'll  kill  somebody  in  this  town,"  I  said,  "be- 
fore you  get  through.  It's  God's  mercy  you 
haven't  already,  in  some  of  the  things  you've  been 
mixed  up  in,"  I  told  him.  For  he  had  broken  up 
one  or  two  men  already  something  scandalous. 
"When  are  you  going  to  let  the  liquor  alone,"  I 
asked  him,  "and  stop  being  the  town  devil?" 

"Look  here,  judge,"  he  said,  giving  me  that 
black  devil-may-care  stare  of  his  and  not  answer- 

62 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  63 

ing  me,  "what  are  these  cackling  women  here  try- 
ing to  do  to  that  girl?" 

I  told  him  as  much  as  I  knew  about  the  story, 
the  situation  about  that  dressmaker,  as  we  under- 
stood it  at  that  time. 

"Since  when,"  he  wanted  to  know,  "has  it  been 
made  a  crime  in  this  state  to  owe  money  to  a  dress* 
maker — a  damned  tailor?  There'd  be  several  of 
them  in  jail  right  along — if  that  was  law,"  he 
told  me. 

"There's  some  truth  in  that,"  I  told  him.  "But 
you've  got  to  remember,"  I  said,  "they  haven't 
proved  even  the  dressmaker's  bill  against  her  yet. 
It's  all  conjecture  and  guessing  still." 

"And  lying  cackling  gossip !  But  that'll  be 
enough  and  plenty  for  the  women." 

"Cole,"  I  said,  "you  don't  always  talk  so  re- 
spectful about  what  you  should — the  women  es- 
pecially." 

"I'm  sorry  for  that  girl,"  he  said,  going  along 
his  own  line  of  thought  as  usual,  "with  everybody 
after  her.  You  heard  the  news,  didn't  you? 
What  they're  saying  this  morning?"  he  asked  me. 

"No,  sir.     I  don't  know's  I  have." 

"Clayborne  Gordon,  they  say,  is  leaving  town 
today ;  called  off  sudden  on  a  business  trip.  You 
know  what  that  means." 

"I  expect  I  can  guess." 


64  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"He's  quit  her  already.  He  always  was  a  yel- 
low-bellied pup." 

"That  ain't  the  language  of  the  polite  drawing- 
room,  Cole,"  I  told  him. 

"Who  said  it  was?"  he  asked  me  back.  "You 
know  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  he  asked  me  after  a 
little  bit,  "if  he's  really  gone?  I'm  going  to  give 
her  a  good  time  myself,  if  she'll  let  me.  I'll  give 
her  a  chance  to  show  these  screechers  she  ain't  out 
of  a  man,  if  she  wants  one." 

I  grinned  a  secret  grin  at  that.  And  yet  it  was 
just  like  him  too. 

"They'll  be  getting  after  you  pretty  quick — 
and  your  character,  Cole,"  I  said.  "What'll  all 
your  fine  friends  and  relations  say — for  you  to 
start  beauing  this  strange  girl  round?"  I  asked 
him.  For  in  spite  of  his  rough  talk  he  belonged  to 
one  of  the  first  families  in  our  county. 

"To  hell  with  all  of  them,"  he  said.  "And  all 
the  women  in  this  little  mean-spirited  town.  I'd 
do  it  for  nothing  else  than  to  spite  them.  I  hate 
the  whole  squawking  back-biting  lot  of  them." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  do,"  I  said,  grinning  at  him. 
"But  how'd  you  go  about  it?  How  would  you 
amuse  a  girl?" 

"I  could  give  her  some  excitement  anyhow,"  he 
told  me.  "That's  more  than  Gordon  could  do — 
to  anybody.  I  could  give  her  a  ride  or  two  in  the 
old  Child  of  Hell." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  65 

"You  don't  expect,"  I  asked  him,  "for  a  minute 
that  you'd  get  any  woman  in  her  right  senses  to 
ride  out  with  you  in  that  murder  car?" 

"Well,  she  don't  have  to.  If  she  don't  want  to 
all  she's  got  to  do  is  to  say  so,"  he  told  me,  and  he 
went  out  and  shut  the  door  after  him. 

I  had  to  smile  a  small  fraction  of  a  smile  after 
seeing  him  watching  and  defending  the  girl  the  day 
before,  without  the  slightest  provocation:  and  yet 
I  knew  it  wasn't  just  the  looks  of  the  girl,  her 
beauty,  either.  He  was  always  that  way,  a  gener- 
ous great-hearted  type  of  boy,  from  the  tune  he 
got  into  long  pants ;  always  willing  and  ready  to 
fight  for  anybody  or  anything  that  he  believed  was 
getting  worsted — and  more  than  ever  since  that 
trouble  of  his  own.  In  spite  of  all  they  said  about 
Cole,  I  always  liked  the  boy  and  was  sorry  for 
him;  and  more  than  ever  since  that  great  dis- 
appointment he  had  had,  that  accident  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war. 

In  war,  I  always  held,  the  first  line  out  are  the 
natural  fighters — the  ones  who  are  really  looking 
to  fight.  There's  always  a  certain  percentage  of 
roving  foot-loose,  devil-may-care  boys  who  just 
jump  at  war  as  the  one  great  big  adventure.  It 
was  just  the  same  with  us  in  this  war  as  in  the  old 
Civil  War — young  boys  begging  and  cheating  and 
lying  to  the  Government  to  get  out  and  get  shot  to 
death.  This  Cole  Hawkins  was  one  of  that  kind 


66  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

always — a  natural-born,  reckless,  devil-take-the- 
hindmost,  harum-scarum  fighter. 

He  was  a  double  orphan,  with  all  the  money 
that  was  good  for  him  and  a  little  more.  One  of 
the  kind  that  always  go  in  for  speed.  For 
horses,  it  was,  in  my  day — fast  horses — but  now 
it's  gasoline.  Ever  since  the  automobile  came  he 
had  been  round  breaking  speed  laws  in  one.  So 
the  first  thing  he  Hid,  naturally,  when  war  came, 
was  to  go  in  for  this  aeroplane  flying — death  not 
being  sure  and  certain  enough  on  the  ground. 
He  was  especially  suited  for  it,  they  claimed — too 
good,  too  anxious  and  reckless.  One  day,  as  they 
explained  it,  he  stole  in  and  got  out  his  machine 
against  orders — before  he'd  hardly  learned  to  run 
it — and  he  was  down  on  the  ground  again,  it  seems, 
about  as  soon  as  he  was  up;  through  with  flying 
and  all  other  warlike  pursuits — one  leg  shorter 
than  the  other,  and  lucky  to  get  off — after  months 
spent  in  the  hospital — with  his  life. 

Since  then  he  had  been  drinking  too  much,  to 
put  it  plain  and  bald ;  driving  in  that  big  red  car 
of  his,  that  Child  of  Hell,  that  he  had  bought  him- 
self; staying  by  himself  and  reading  the  news- 
papers on  the  war;  and  getting  blacker  and  ug- 
lier and  louder,  sitting  at  home,  nursing  his  wrath, 
like  natural  fighters  have  when  they  can't  get  into 
a  fight — ever  since  the  days  of  Achilless  He  got 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  67 

worse  and  worse  as  the  war  went  on  without  his 
assistance;  every  battle  fought  was  a  personal 
insult  to  him  because  he  wasn't  in  it.  He  was  a 
public  menace  to  the  town,  riding  round  in  that 
roaring  speedster,  half  drunk  very  likely,  trying  to 
forget  that  way. 

He  was  right — I  believed  then  and  as  it  finally 
turned  out — in  what  he  had  said  about  Gordon, 
and  what  he  had  thought  about  him  and  the  girl. 
Gordon  was  gone,  nobody  knew  for  how  long  or 
how  far.  He  had  not  committed  himself  publicly 
to  any  engagement  to  the  girl,  no  matter  what 
might  have  been  agreed  between  them  for  an- 
nouncement on  that  day  of  victory. 

Anyhow,  whatever  your  theory  might  be,  the 
fact  was  that  the  situation  was  entirely  changed. 
Almost  at  once  Gordon  was  gone,  and  the  girl, 
White  Shoulders,  whiter  faced  and  stiller  yet,  was 
taking  her  first  ride  with  Cole  Hawkins,  the  Lame 
Duck,  as  Cupid  Calvert  kindly  called  him,  but  only 
occasionally,  to  a  select  few,  not  desiring,  I  as- 
sume, that  appropriate  and  kindly  name  to  get 
back  to  its  bearer  as  originating  from  his  lips. 
Yet  if  you  are  a  humourist,  I  often  notice,  humour 
will  out — regardless  of  consequences. 

"She  must  be  desperate,  I'll  say  that  for  her," 
said  Julia  Blakelock,  "to  go  out  in  that  death 
trap  with  that  drunken  murderer." 


68  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

'^Without  even  taking  out  a  death  warrant," 
said  Cupid. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,  Cupid,"  said  Belle 
Davis,  "Cole  Hawkins  can  drive  better  drunk  and 
asleep  than  you  ever  will  with  all  your  faculties. 
I  only  wish  he'd  ask  me  to  ride — but  he  never  will, 
I  expect.  I've  given  up  all  hope  now!" 

"Speak   for  yourself,"   said   Julia  Blakelock. 

"I  will.     Don't  you  fret." 

"I  don't  want  to  die  yet  awhile,"  said  the 
Blakelock  woman.  "But  at  the  same  time  you 
can't  blame  her,  either.  It  was  a  godsend  to  her, 
after  that  expose — after  that  scandalous  thing 
about  the  dressmaker.  If  it  wasn't  for  this  new 
man  they'd  both  have  been  laughed  out  of 
town  the  next  day  after  the  day  of  victory." 

"It  was  a  bitter  end  to  a  hard-fought  cam- 
paign," said  Ella  Armitage. 

"It  was  a  rout,  I  should  say,"  Cupid  Calvert 
contributed,  "with  just  one  avenue  of  escape.'* 

"A  poor  avenue,"  said  Julia  Blakelock.  "You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  how  likely  that  devil  of  a  Cole 
Hawkins  is  to  marry  her  or  any  other  woman. 
And  how  long  they  could  live  together  if  he  did. 
But  what  I  don't  see,"  said  Julia  Blakelock,  going 
on,  "is  how  those  two  can  stay  here  at  all — after 
what's  happened." 

"Why  not?"  Belle  Davis  asked  her. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  69 

"After  what  has  come  out?" 

"What  has  come  out?     What  do  you  know?" 

"We're  practically  certain,"  said  the  Blakelock 
woman,  "that  they  were  just  two  adventuresses 
who  came  up  here  to  marry  off  the  girl,  with  a 
wardrobe  they'd  bought  on  instalments  from  that 
terrible  creature  from  St.  Louis,  who  came  up 
here  looking  for  his  money. 

"How  do  we  know  even  that?"  asked  Belle  Davis 
again. 

"We  know  it — practically  speaking,"  the  other 
woman  told  her. 

"We  don't  know  a  thing  that  we  can  prove," 
repeated  Belle  Davis,  "except  a  stolen  telegram 
and  a  stolen  business  card — and  what  we  saw  of 
this  man." 

"Wasn't  that  enough?" 

"No.  We  know  there's  something  very  strange 
— very  funny  there.  But  that's  all  we  do  know." 

"It  was  enough  for  Clayborne  Gordon,  evident- 
ly," said  Julia  Blakelock. 

"We  don't  know  that  either,"  Belle  Davis  in- 
sisted. "For  all  you  know  he's  gone  away  on  a 
business  trip — as  he  says." 

"We  can  guess,"  said  the  Blakelock  girl. 

"Yes.  That's  all  you  can  do — about  the  whole 
thing." 

"There's   one  thing   sure,   anyhow,"   said  the 


70  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

other  woman,  "and  that's  the  reception  they're 
getting  everywhere  since  the  thing  happened." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that  either — as  far  as 
I'm  concerned!"  Belle  Davis  told  her,  snapping 
her  black  eyes.  "I'm  sorry  for  them,  myself,  and 
especially  for  the  girl.  She  looks  more  like  a  girl 
of  ivory  than  ever — stiller  and  whiter.  And  her 
face  has  got  that  kind  of  haunted  look  on  it, 
deeper  than  ever." 

"That's  one  grand  idea !  Haunted  by  a  dress- 
maker!" said  Cupid  Calvert. 

"What  do  you  think,  judge,"  Belle  Davis  came 
out  suddenly  at  me,  "sitting  over  there,  wiser  than 
a  barrelful  of  old  owls,  listening?" 

"They're  haunted,  I  expect,  all  right,  Belle,"  I 
told  her,  "with  you  all  after  them.  They've  got 
that  look.  They  look  to  me  now  like  two  lost 
souls,  as  old  Sam  Barsam  used  to  say;  just  two 
short  hops  ahead  of  the  devil." 

"That's  what  the  Cockatoo  sounds  like,  any- 
how, since  the  unfortunate  event." 

"Her  gaiety  does  grow,"  I  said,  "a  little  ex- 
cruciating, I'll  have  to  say." 

"Clayborne  Gordon  may  come  back,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Pennyworth,  the  Boarding-House  Pessimist. 

"Or  they  may  be  getting  ready  for  a  good  old 
breach-of-promise  suit,"  suggested  Julia  Blake- 
lock. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  71 

"More  business  for  you,  judge,"  said  Calvert. 

"I  believe  we  had  all  better  shut  up  and  keep 
still  till  we  know  more,"  said  Belle  Davis,  who  was 
taking  the  girl's  part  more  and  more  now  she  was 
down. 

The  exact  fact  was  that  there  was  nothing  in 
the  testimony  yet  sufficient  to  warrant  more  than 
a  general  arraignment  in  the  women's  courts  of 
the  two  women  as  suspicious  characters,  which 
they  had  been  all  along.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  was  something  more  to  the  point  now  in 
evidence — a  warning  to  the  men,  especially  to  a 
man  of  Clayborne  Gordon's  finer  sensibilities ;  and 
so  the  probability  that  the  women  were  right  in 
their  belief  that  we  were  witnessing  the  last  stages 
of  the  matrimonial  campaign. 

The  appearance  and  manner  of  the  Scarlet 
Cockatoo  were  the  best  evidence  of  this.  Her 
rouge  was  redder  than  sin,  but  not  red  enough  to 
cover  up  the  purple  circles  round  the  eyes;  and 
her  gaiety,  aimed  at  those  who  would  still  listen 
to  it,  was  more  hysterical  than  ever.  She  was 
directing  attention  mostly  now  to  the  delicacy  of 
White  Shoulders  in  her  speech  since  that  unfor- 
tunate indisposition  on  that  dreadful  day — that 
terrible  happening. 

She  reverted  in  detail  to  this — how  natural  it 
was,  after  all,  in  a  girl  who  had  been  so  delicately 


72  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

reared,  so  sheltered  from  everything  that  would 
disturb  a  sensitive  nature.  She  was  discussing 
this  that  night  before  her  next  misfortune 
fell. 

"What  can  you  expect,  sir,"  she  was  saying  to 
me,  "when  you  care  for  them  and  shelter  them  the 
way  we  Southern  folks  do?'* 

She  might  be  an  imposter  from  St.  Louis,  I  said 
to  myself,  watching  her  and  listening  to  her,  but 
she  did  not  sound  like  it ;  she  talked  like  the  gen- 
uine old-time  Southern  country  woman. 

And  then  she  went  upstairs  to  get  ready  for 
dinner  again.  And  just  precisely  at  that  minute 
Cupid  Calvert  was  coming  in  grinning.  I  saw  him 
enter. 

"Come  over  here,"  he  called  in  a  low  voice,  and 
cocked  his  finger  at  Belle  Davis  and  grinned  a 
kind  of  secret  way.  "Come  over  here,"  he  said, 
"in  the  corner.  I've  got  something  to  show  you." 

"The  judge  won't  mind,"  said  Belle  Davis,  and 
came  over  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  my  easy-chair. 

"It's  the  opening  of  the  second  act,  dear 
friends,"  said  Calvert,  and  brought  out  that  type- 
written letter. 

"What's  this?"  Belle  Davis  asked  him,  with  her 
eyes  out  on  her  cheek  after  reading  it. 

"Read  it  to  Julia,"  said  Cupid,  "before  she 
blows  up  entirely." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  73 

So  she  did. 

"Just  a  word,"  it  said,  "to  a  wise  boy.  If 
you're  looking  around  for  amusement,  ask  that 
woman  that  calls  herself  Mrs.  Fairborn  if  she  ever 
heard  of  the  Pitman  family — the  celebrated  Pit- 
man murder  case." 

"Murder!"  whispered  Julia  Blakelock. 

"It  isn't  signed?"  asked  Belle  Davis. 

"No.     Nor  dated." 

"Just  typewritten." 

"The  plot  curdles,"  said  Calvert,  grinning  one 
of  his  happiest  grins,  from  ear  to  ear. 

"Just  an  anonymous  letter,"  said  the  Davis 
girl.  "I  don't  believe  it." 

"Don't  you  understand  yet?"  Calvert  asked 
them.  And  the  two  looked  at  him. 

"You're  slow,"  he  said. 

"Oh,"  said  Belle  Davis,  flushing  up.  "The  tel- 
egram !" 

"Certain  sure.  Don't  you  remember?  What 
we  couldn't  understand  at  that  time?" 

"How  was  it  it  ran?  I  forget,"  said  Belle 
Davis. 

'Tike  this,"  he  told  her,  taking  it  out  of  his 
pocket  once  more  and  reading  it :  "So  you  should 
make  a  get-away?  Now  you  come  through. 
Five  hundred — by  Saturday.  Or  letters  start. 
Wire  answer.  A.  G." 


74.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Letters  start!"  said  Julia  Blakelock,  nodding 
her  head.  They  were  all  naturally  talking  in 
half  whispers. 

"That  dressmaker!"  said  Belle  Davis. 

"Look,"  said  Cupid,  and  turned  the  envelope 

of  the  anonymous  letter  so  they  saw  the  postmark. 

"St.   Louis!"    said   Julia   Blakelock,    reading. 

"And  if  he  wrote  it,"  Calvert  went  on,  "there's 
probably  something  somewhere  behind  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  they  are  mur- 
derers," asked  Belle  Davis — "those  two  women?" 

"Well,  no.  They  wouldn't  have  to  be,  would 
they,  to  be  mixed  up  in  it  some  way?" 

"Did  you  talk  to  him?"  asked  Belle  Davis,  eying 
him  a  little  close. 

"No;  only  just  for  a  minute,"  Cupid  Calvert 
told  her,  his  eyes  turning  off  from  hers  the  way 
they  did  sometimes. 

"Long  enough  so  you  exchanged  names?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  expect  so.  I  expect  we  did.  We 
would." 

<fWhat'd  you  ask  him?  What'd  you  talk 
about?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  he  told  her.  "We  just  passed 
the  time  of  the  day.  Honest — that's  all  we  did !" 
he  swore  to  her. 

"Murder!"  said  Julia  Blakelock  under  her 
breath. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  75 

"Look,  judge,"  said  Cupid,  handing  the  thing 
to  me.  "Here's  something  in  your  line." 

"Not  yet.  Not  anonymous  letters,"  I  said, 
looking  it  over  and  passing  it  back. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  Pitman  murder 
case?" 

"Not  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief," 
I  told  him. 

"He  wouldn't,"  said  Belle  Davis.  "Not  if  it 
was  committed  in  Dell  County,  in  another  state." 

"Which  it  wasn't,"  said  Julia  Blakelock. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  Belle  Davis 
answered. 

"Why?     What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  told  them.  "I  just 
feel  thataway  somehow." 

Julia  Blakelock  stood  still,  her  thin  lips  closed 
down,  reading  over  the  letter  from  where  she  had 
taken  it  from  Calvert. 

"Who'll  do  it?"  she  came  out  finally. 

"Who'll  do  what?" 

"Who's  going  to  ask  them  that?" 

"You  mean  to  say,"  Belle  Davis  cried,  "you'd 
have  the  nerve?" 

"I  certainly  do,"  stated  the  Blakelock  woman, 
setting  her  lips  together  tighter  than  ever. 

"It  would  be  good  and  amusing,  that's  sure," 
said  Cupid. 


76  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"It  would  be  more  than  amusing,"  said  Julia 
Blakelock.  "If  we've  got  that  kind  of  characters 
here  we  want  to  find  it  out  and  run  them  out." 

"What  characters?"  Belle  Davis  asked  her. 

"That's  what  we're  going  to  see,"  said  Julia 
Blakelock. 

"You  wouldn't " 

"I  certainly  would!  And  I  will,"  said  Julia 
Blakelock— "and  right  off!" 

"I  should  say,  perhaps "  I  started  telling 

her. 

"Never  mind  what  you  say,"  she  told  me.  "I'm 
old  enough  to  take  care  of  myself  and  do  what  I 
think  is  right.  You  watch  me." 

We  did,  naturally.  That's  all  we  could  do ;  we 
waited  and  watched  and  saw  the  blow  starting  to 
fall,  if  it  was  to  be  a  blow ! 

The  mother  and  daughter  came  down  the  stairs 
in  the  usual  order — the  mother  chattering  gay 
nothings  to  her  daughter,  following  her,  appar- 
ently not  even  hearing  her;  just  coming  with  her 
eyes  down,  silent  and  white  and  even  delicate 
looking  now,  in  spite  of  her  size.  There  was  a  new 
way  about  her  since  her  "unfortunate  indisposi- 
tion" on  Victory  Day;  there  was  weariness  and 
silence  and  a  certain  look  of  shrinking,  as  if,  I 
thought  sometimes,  she  felt  some  one  was  going  to 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  77 

strike  her — or  worse.  Her  great  eyes  were  cer- 
tainly wider  and  her  skin  whiter  than  ever  before. 

They  sat  down  in  the  dining  room,  Julia  Blake- 
lock  watching  them  under  her  eyelids  from  her  seat 
across  the  table,  waiting  for  the  proper  time  for 
her  attack.  The  second  course  was  almost  over 
before  she  launched  it. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Fairborn,"  she  said  in  that  sweet, 
high,  dangerous  voice  that  women  use  in  verbal 
warfare. 

The  Cockatoo  looked  up.  She  would,  natural- 
ly. The  other  woman  almost  never  spoke  to  her. 

"I  almost  forgot,"  the  Blakelock  girl  was  going 
on,  with  her  sharp  eyes  looking  across  above  her 
smile.  "I  had  a  friend  from  your  state  I  was 
writing  to  about  you  the  other  day " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  Fairborn  woman,  wait- 
ing in  anxious  silence.  I  could  see  the  girl,  that 
White  Shoulders,  stop  eating  and  stiffen  in  her 
chair. 

"And  she  told  me,"  went  on  Julia  Blakelock,  as 
sweetly  as  she  could  in  that  thin  voice  of  hers, 
"to  ask  you  if  you  ever  knew  a  Pitman  family  in 
your  county — Dell  County,  isn't  it?" 

I  saw  the  girl's  hand  go  out,  fumbling  for  her 
water  glass,  and  the  frozen  smile  freeze  harder 
than  ever  on  the  face  of  the  Cockatoo — as  full  of 


78  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

mirth  as  the  smile  of  a  mummy. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  after  a  second.  "There  was 
a  family  of  that  name  there.  But  I  didn't  know 
them — not  well." 

"Wasn't  there  something,"  asked  Julia  Blake- 
lock,  "about  a  trial?  I  didn't  quite  understand 
it." 

The  Cockatoo,  her  eyes  set  on  her  face,  her 
mouth  in  a  crescent-shape  grimace,  jumped  out 
her  answer  at  once — almost  before  the  words  had 
left  her  mouth.  She  had  courage  anyhow. 

"There  was  something — something,"  she  said. 
"But  I  forget  now  just  what  it  was.  I  was  away 
visiting  at  the  time.  I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you," 
she  said,  keeping  on.  "I'm  sorry,  but  I  never  pay 
much  attention  to  such  things. 

And  just  then  the  girl's  hand,  fumbling,  knocked 
over  her  glass  of  water. 

Belle  Davis,  on  the  other  side  of  her,  jumped 
up. 

"Oh,  I'm  terribly  sorry!  I'm  terribly  mad  at 
myself  for  that,"  she  said.  "I  must  have  hit 
your  arm." 

The  lips  of  White  Shoulders  moved  in  some  sort 
of  murmur.  And  everybody — the  women  on  both 
sides  of  her — were  busy  mopping  up  the  water. 

After  they  were  through  and  the  usual  apology 
and  small  excitement  over  such  an  accident  were 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  79 

done,  the  meal  went  through  in  silence.  And 
after  it  both  the  mother  and  daughter  got  up  and 
went  up  to  their  room. 

"I'm  afraid  Virginia  spilled  some  of  that  water 
on  her  frock.  I'm  afraid  it  will  stain.  I'm  going 
to  have  her  go  up  and  take  it  off  anyhow,"  the 
mother  volunteered,  and  they  went  upstairs  to- 
gether. 

"Did  you  see  that  girl — how  she  ate  the  rest 
of  the  meal?"  asked  Julia  Blakelock. 

"She  was  as  free  and  natural  in  all  her  motions 
as  the  cuckoo  on  a  cuckoo  clock !"  said  Cupid. 

"Do  you  know  what  that  woman  was  doing  to 
her  when  Julia  was  talking?"  asked  Belle  Davis. 
"She  was  pinching  her  under  the  table. 

"Why  should  you  break  in,"  asked  Julia  Blake- 
lock  back — "before  we  saw  what  she'd  do?" 

"We  saw  enough,"  Belle  Davis  told  her,  "as  it 
was." 

"They're  certainly  guilty,"  said  the  Blakelock 
woman.  "It  was  written  all  over  them." 

"Guilty  of  what?"  Belle  Davis  asked  her  in  that 
blunt  way  of  hers.  "Of  murder?" 

"What  would  you  say,  judge?"  Cupid  Calvert 
asked  me. 

"I  doubt  if  they  have  committed  more  than  two 
or  three  murders  at  most,"  I  told  him.  "It 
wouldn't  seem  likely  to  me — if  they  had  killed  too 


80  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

many — we'd  see  them  wandering  round  at  large." 

"You  needn't  tell  me,"  said  Belle  Davis,  "that 
they  are  murderers  or  criminals — especially  that 
girl.  She  looks  to  me  like  a  great  frightened 
child.  That's  what  she  looks  like  to  me." 

"Well,  they  look  very  different  to  me,  I  can  tell 
you  that!"  said  Julia  Blakelock.  "And  they 
always  have!" 

"We'll  have  to  look  into  this  case  further,  eh, 
judge?"  said  Cupid  Calvert. 

"You  will,"  I  said.  "It'll  be  quite  a  field  for 
your  talents." 

Neither  of  the  women  came  down  again  into  the 
hall  that  night — at  least  I  didn't  see  them  before  I 
went  up  to  bed. 


VII 


I  WENT  to  my  room  that  night  rather  late,  as 
usual.  A  boarding  house  bedroom  is  not,  I 
have  always  held,  a  place  to  heighten  the 
spirits  of  men  well  along  in  life  who  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  alone  in  the  world.  I  always  pre- 
ferred to  cultivate  my  leisure  either  in  my  office  or 
with  the  folks  downstairs. 

It  must  have  been,  as  nearly  as  I  can  place  it, 
about  eleven  o'clock  when  I  went  into  my  chamber 
and  lit  up  the  gas — the  old  house  not  being 
equipped  yet  with  electricity.  When  I  had  done 
this  I  was  more  or  less  surprised  to  hear  the  loud- 
ness  of  the  voices  in  the  next  room. 

fThe  room  next  adj  oining  mine  I  had  understood 
was  that  of  the  girl  White  Shoulders — her  Beauty 
Chamber,  as  her  mother,  with  her  unusual  gift  of 
language,  called  it,  The  mother,  I  had  under- 
stood, slept  by  herself  in  a  second  smaller  room 
beyond  and  leading  out  of  this.  But  now  when  I 
entered  my  room  she  was  evidently  in  the  girl's 
larger  bedroom  talking.  At  the  side  of  my  bed- 

81 


82  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

room,  away  from  the  hall — used  before  the  some- 
what rambling  old  dwelling  was  a  boarding  house 
— was  a  door  which  had  been  built  to  connect  my 
room  with  the  chamber  now  occupied  by  the  girl; 
a  door  now  bolted  on  both  sides  and  covered  on 
my  side,  at  least,  by  a  drapery.  The  women  must 
have  been  sitting  somewhere  not  far  from  this. 

The  indistinct  murmur  of  voices  from  the  next 
room — such  as  is  often  heard  through  bedroom 
walls — was  familiar  enough  to  me.  I  had  even 
distinguished  words  before  then  spoken  by  persons 
near  that  old  door.  But  that  night  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  distinctness  of  the  two  women's 
voices. 

They  had  talked  little  in  the  room  when  they 
were  once  alone  together,  and  then  generally  in 
low  tones — especially  the  girl.  But  now  I  noticed 
it  was  the  girl  who  was  speaking  loudest — in  a 
strained,  hoarse,  hurried  voice,  which,  in  fact,  I 
took  at  first  to  be  the  voice  of  a  stranger.  It  was 
the  voice,  I  then  came  to  the  conclusion,  of  a 
person  under  great  excitement.  And  as  I  listened 
I  could  tell  from  occasional  words  that  she 
was  refusing  to  do  something,  in  a  voice  that  was 
more  and  more  hysterical. 

I  undressed  and  went  to  bed,  thinking  that  they 
would  soon  stop  talking ;  but  in  the  dark  and  with 
the  ceasing  of  noises  about  the  house  and  in  the 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  83 

street  the  voices  grew  louder  and  more  plain — 
perhaps  because  the  women  moved  even  nearer  to 
that  door.  But  more  than  all  now,  both  women, 
I  should  have  said,  were  losing  their  heads,  in  the 
growth  of  their  excitement,  whatever  it  might  be. 
I  moved  as  noisily  as  I  could,  lay  down  heavily 
in  bed,  to  give  them  warning,  but  now  as  I  lay 
there  I  could  hear  with  great  distinctness  those 
two  strained  voices  of  women  beyond  the  door. 

The  voice  of  the  mother  rose  again  sharper 
and  clearer  than  before.  I  could  hear  her  per- 
fectly— arguing,  apparently,  with  the  girl. 

"I've  told  you,  and  I've  told  you,  and  I've 
told  you,  Virginia!"  she  repeated.  "We  can't! 
We're  down  to  our  last  three  hundred  dollars." 

"Oh,  mother!"  cried  the  girl;  and  their  voices 
fell  again. 

"They  are  through,  then!"  I  said  to  myself, 
listening.  "Their  woman's  speculation  is  done 
for." 

The  voice  of  this  woman,  that  so-called  Scarlet 
Cockatoo,  rose  again  and  reached  me  through 
the  darkness. 

"We've  got  to  stay.  It's  here  or  never.  It's 
the  last — absolutely  the  'last  chance,  Virginia. 
It's  here  or  it's  ruin,  for  all  of  us — for  you,  for 
Robert  Lee,  for  your  mother!" 

"Robert  Lee!"  I   said   to  myself.     "What  is 


84  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

this?  What  sort  of  gamble  is  this?"  I  thought, 
listening  now  with  all  my  ears  in  spite  of  myself. 

"But  I  won't  stay,"  the  strange,  unnatural 
voice  of  the  girl,  that  White  Shoulders,  an- 
swered her.  "I  won't  be  stripped  and  dragged 
naked  again — by  that  fiend.  Never!  I'll  die 
first.  It  would  kill  me  anyhow." 

"That  devil — Gluber  I"  said  the  mother's  voice. 
"If  I  could  only  kill  him!  That's  the  one  we 
ought  to  kiU." 

"You  know  what  he'll  do  again — with  those 
letters!  He'll  never  stop — never!  Oh,  let  me 
go!  Let  me  go!  Let  me  go,  mother!  Please! 
Please !"  cried  the  girl's  voice,  like  a  young  child's 
in  a  general  breakdown  and  craziness  of  fear. 
"I'll  do  anything  if  you'll  only  let  me!" 

"You  can't  go,  Virginia,"  her  mother  said — 
apparently  taking  hold  of  her,  quieting  her. 
"You  can't,  honey.  You  can't.  You've  got  to 
stay,  for  all  of  us.  You  can't  leave.  You  can't 
desert  now.  Think  of  Robert  Lee — think  of 
yourself — think  of  me — a  little !" 

"Robert  Lee !"  I  said  to  myself  again.  "Who's 
Robert  Lee?  What's  this  new  turn  in  this 
thing?"  And  in  the  meanwhile  the  girl's  voice 
was  going  on. 

"Think!  Think!  What  do  I  do  but  think?" 
she  cried  back.  "It's  hopeless,  mother.  It's 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  85 

hopeless!"  she  cried,  a  newer  and  higher  tone 
coming  into  her  voice.  "We  can't  go !  We  can't 
stay!  It's  hopeless,  that's  all!  It's  hopeless! 
We  can't  escape  it !" 

"No!"  the  mother's  voice  came  answering  her. 
"I'm  going  again  to  Gluber." 

And  then  I  lost  the  conversation  once  more. 

"But  you  can't,"  the  girl  was  saying.  "What 
can  you  say  to  him?" 

The  mother's  explanation  I  only  partly  heard. 
But  there  was  a  mention  now  and  then,  I  could 
catch,  of  Gluber  and  then  of  Gordon's  name. 

"He  won't  believe  that,"  the  girl  spoke  up. 
"It  isn't  true,  anyhow." 

"How  do  you  know  it  isn't  true?"  the  mother's 
voice  came  back,  growing  sharp. 

"I  know.     He  isn't  that  kind." 

"He'll  have  to  come  back — you'll  see!"  the 
sharp-voiced  mother  said,  in  the  tone  of  arguing 
with  herself.  "He'll  have  to.  He'll  never  give 
you  up.  He's  just  fascinated — by  your  beauty." 

"My  beauty!  My  beauty!"  the  girl's  voice 
came  back,  the  tone  of  hysteria  coming  back  into 
it  again.  "Don't  talk  like  that— don't!  When 
we  are  alone!  Let  me  have  that  much  peace. 
My  beauty !" 

"And  if  not  Gordon — then  there's  that  other 
man." 


86 

"Who?" 

"The  black  one  with  the  automobile.  He's 
crazy  about  you." 

"Oh,  mother— he's  not !" 

"Why  did  he  come  out  and  do  what  he  did  to 
Gluber,  then?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  it  isn't  what  you  say 
about  me.  He  isn't  crazy  about  me,  nor  any  of 
them,  the  way  you  say.  They  can't  be — 
especially  after  this." 

"You  trust  me,  Virginia.  You  trust  me.  I 
know  men.  Some  one,  somehow,  is  going  to  make 
you  marry  them  here.  I  know  men.  When  they 
see  and  get  to  care  for  a  girl  like  you  are,  honey, 
they  can't  forget  them.  They've  got  to  come 
back — they  can't  any  of  them  give  up  your  looks, 
your  face,  your  gowns — your  whole  beautiful 
body." 

"Oh,  mother!"  cried  the  girl  again.  I  could 
almost  hear  her  cringing.  "Don't !  Don't ! 
Don't  make  it  any  worse  than  it  has  to  be." 

There  was  a  silence  then  between  them — the 
woman,  I  imagine,  quieting  and  trying  to  soothe 
the  girl. 

Then  there  was  a  new  sound.  The  girl  appar- 
ently must  have  jumped  to  her  feet.  "I  won't! 
I  won't !  I  can't  any  longer !"  she  cried  out. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  87 

"What?" 

"I  won't  be  dragged  round.  It's  too  disgust- 
ing. Marriage!"  she  said.  "I  hate  and  loathe 
the  name  of  marriage!  I've  been  bred  for  mar- 
riage— like  a  horse  for  racing.  I've  heard 
nothing  but  marriage,  marriage  since  I  was  a 
child — and  began  to  remember.  It's  disgusting! 
It's  loathsome!  I  hate  the  word." 

"Virginia!"  cried  the  other  woman's  voice. 
But  the  hysterical  voice  of  the  girl  went  on. 

"Always  it's  been  what  I  could  do,  what  we 
could  all  do — when  I  came  to  marry.  What  they 
should  have  said  was — when  I  came  to  be  sold. 
All  these  dresses !  All  those  clothes !  Clothes, 
clothes,  clothes !  Lovely  hair !  Lovely  face ! 
Lovely  body!  I  wish  I  was  dead!" 

"Virginia!  Virginia!"  the  mother  was  saying 
to  the  frantic  girl. 

"I  won't  stay,"  the  girl  insisted. 

"You  can't  go,"  said  the  mother,  her  voice 
hardening.  "How  would  you  go?  Where?  You 
haven't  the  money  in  the  first  place  to  go  any- 
where." 

The  girl  lapsed  suddenly  into  silence;  did  not 
answer. 

"What  can  you  do?"  her  mother  said  again. 
"No,  there's  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  We're 


88  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

Fairborns.  We'll  stay  right  here  and  fight  it  out 
— that's  all  that  we  can  do.  I  can  arrange  with 
Gluber,  I  know,  so  he  won't  go  on  and  write  again. 
I  know  I  can — when  I  go  up  to  St.  Louis  and  see 
him.  I  have  a  plan  worked  out  to  explain  things 
to  him — to  show  him  how  he  will  get  no  more  than 
we  by  what  he's  doing." 
^There  was  no  answer  now. 

"There'll  be  no  more  letters,"  said  the  mother 

.  t 

confidently,  "from  now  on.  And  they'll  never  get 
any  wiser — these  fool  women  here.  They'll  never 
go  on  and  learn  any  more." 

"No,"  said  the  girl  in  a  low  obstinate  voice. 

"It  will  all  come  all  right,  honey,"  said  the 
woman,  coaxing  her. 

"No,"  said  the  voice  of  the  girl. 

"You'll  see." 

"No,"  said  the  girl  again,  in  that  dead  voice. 
"It's  hopeless.  I'll  never  go  through  that  again. 
Never." 

"Do  you  forget — everything?  Robert  Lee — 
and  where  he  is  now — all  fot  the  protection  of 
you?" 

(tl  don't  forget  anything — ever.  But  it's  hope- 
less. I'm  sure  now,"  returned  the  girl's  dead 
voice  again. 

"You're  a  wicked,  ungrateful  girl." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  89 

"Maybe  I  am.  Maybe  I  am.  But  I  won't  stay 
here — to  go  through  that  again.  I'm  through. 
We  both  are.  Oh,  can't  you  see,  mother?  I 
can't  stay  here.  I  can't — any  longer — sit  ancJ 
smile  and  be  silent — and  know  every  minute  may 
be  the  last  before  I  am  dragged  through  that  filth 
again.  Just  ashamed,  ashamed,  ashamed  1" 

Her  voice  slid  up  again  into  high-pitched 
terror.  And  I  could  distinguish  now — not  so 
much  by  words  as  by  tone — the  voice  of  her  mother 
trying  her  best  to  soothe  a  frightened  child. 

"It'll  come  right,  honey.  It'll  all  come  right 
finally."  I  made  out  at  last  the  formula  she  was 
repeating  over  and  over  again. 

"It  will  never  come  right.  Never,  mother.  It's 
hopeless,  absolutely  hopeless — and  you  know  it." 

Their  arguing  went  on — less  loud,  less  violent 
— the  woman  trying  to  quiet  the  girl,  but  never, 
it  appeared,  convincing  her.  In  absence  of  their 
exact  words  now  my  mind  went  off  speculating  on 
the  probable  explanation  of  the  matter — trying  to 
arrange  and  go  over  in  my  own  mind  the  new 
evidence  which  had  developed  in  the  case  during 
the  past  few  hours,  since  the  coming  of  that  anony- 
mous letter  from  St.  Louis,  from  that  dressmaker 
with  the  face  of  a  criminal,  or  at  least  a  criminal's 
fence.  It  was  quite  apparent  by  this  time  that  we 


90  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

were  seeing  developed  under  Mrs.  Tusset's  highly 
respectable  roof  a  somewhat  baffling  and  possibly 
serious  chain  of  circumstances. 

Women's  speculations  in  matrimony  are  not 
unknown — even  in  our  somewhat  romantic  section 
of  the  earth's  surface.  Even  here,  in  every  town, 
every  evening  from  two-thirty  to  five-thirty 
o'clock,  Sam  Barsam  used  to  claim,  the  women's 
matrimonial  exchange  is  in  session,  watching  the 
market  from  Texas  to  South  Carolina,  sharper 
than  the  Cotton  Exchange  at  New  Orleans  ever 
dreamed  of  watching  the  cotton  crop. 

These  two  women  were  doubtless,  as  the  other 
womenfolks  had  caught  at  once,  two  speculators, 
two  desperate  gamblers  in  matrimony — playing 
the  market  on  a  shoe  string,  as  the  market  term 
goes,  I  understand;  probably,  from  the  evidence 
so  far,  with  the  equipment  and  enhancement  of 
feminine  charms  furnished  on  credit  by  this  dress- 
maker or  dealer  in  costumes,  on  instalment  plan 
— this  man  Gluber,  with  the  singularly  repellent 
countenance  and  manners,  from  St.  Louis. 

This  speculation  seemed  to  me  to  have  been 
fought  to  the  last  ditch — lost  by  the  almost  tragic 
course  of  events  on  that  day  of  victory.  Women 
— all  but  the  most  case-hardened  manipulators 
of  matrimony  or  worse — would  scarcely  have 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  91 

remained  to  fight  along  beyond  that  apparently 
hopeless  ending.  But  here  we  found  these  two, 
or  the  mother,  rather,  still  forcing  the  fight — from 
sheer  necessity,  it  now  seemed,  and  not,  as  it  might 
have  appeared  from  the  surface,  because  of  mere 
hardness  or  lack  of  what  might  ordinarily 
have  been  termed  a  decent  and  proper  regard  for 
the  opinion  of  others,  such  as  is  generally  required 
by  sound  human  society. 

The  new  evidence  lay  still  in  an  undigested  mass, 
an  inexplicable  tangle  in  my  mind.  Could  there 
have  been  a  murder — a  Pitman  murder,  as  this 
anonymous  letter  claimed — dn  which  the  women 
were  implicated?  Assuming  the  letter  to  be 
written  by  this  forbidding  dressmaker,  it  would 
not  necessarily  be  true — far  from  it,  judging  from 
my  casual  inspection  of  that  face — except  that  the 
apparent  probability  that  he  was  now  using  this 
alleged  crime  for  the  purposes  of  blackmail  would 
tend  to  the  conjecture  that  there  might  be  at 
least  some  truth  in  the  intimation  that  he  was 
making. 

And  yet  it  appeared  to  me — especially  after  the 
enlightenment  of  the  last  few  minutes  from  the 
women's  conversation — most  repugnant  to  the 
general  probabilities  that  these  two  women  were 
principals  or  deeply  concerned  in  any  murder. 


92  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

The  attitude  of  the  girl,  the  conversation  of  the 
mother — would  both  seem  to  deny  this.  And, 
moreover,  no  mention,  in  set  terms,  had  been  made 
in  all  their  talk,  as  one  would  naturally  have 
expected,  of  any  such  overshadowing  matter  as  a 
murder  would  have  been  in  their  lives. 

On  the  other  hand,  who  was  this  Robert  Lee, 
who  was  introduced  into  my  knowledge  for  the  first 
time,  who  had,  it  appeared,  established  this 
obligation — given  this  protection  for  which  the 
girl  was  now  called  upon  to  make  her  obviously 
reluctant  sacrifice,  the  last  but  very  few  that  any 
woman  can  be  asked  to  make — the  sacrifice  of  her 
soul  and  body  for  life  in  an  utterly  and  frankly 
mercenary  marriage. 

It  was  certainly  an  abstruse  and  knotty 
problem — with  the  evidence  so  far  at  hand.  I  saw 
I  could  not  solve  it  with  my  present  knowledge — 
not  until  some  further  development  of  events,  or 
further  information,  which  the  whispering  women 
aad  their  assistant,  Cupid  Calvert,  would  no  doubt 
unearth  later. 

The  sobbing  of  the  girl  in  the  next  room  had 
died  down  and  the  mother  had  apparently  gone 
into  her  own  chamber  and  to  bed  before  I  fell 
asleep. 

The  girl,  I  thought  afterward  that  I  recalled, 
sobbed  again  and  stopped;  and  may  have  arisen 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  93 

and  struck  heavily  against  some  object  in  the 
room.     I  am  not  entirely  clear  on  this. 

The  next  thing  I  remember  with  certainty  is  the 
sound  of  light  knocking  and  the  low  agonized  voice 
of  the  woman  at  my  door — and  then  in  a  moment 
the  faint  sweet  odour  of  illuminating  gas. 


VIII 

1WAS  out  of  bed  and  had  snatched  my  dressing 
gown  from  the  chair  beside  me  before  I  was,  I 
expect,  entirely  awake.     The  smell  of  the  gas 
was  a  certainty  now.     I  could  hear  the  low  insist- 
ent knocking   and   the   strained   whisper   of   the 
woman  going  on  with  that  formula,  like  a  reiter- 
ated prayer,  which  had  awakened  me:  "Judge! 
Judge  Dalrymple !     For  God's  sake,  sir,  open  this 
door!" 

It  was  not  the  door  into  the  hallway,  I  was 
sufficiently  awake  now  to  understand.  It  must 
be,  then,  the  door  into  the  adjoining  chamber. 
I  ran  over  to  it  and  started  fumbling  at  the 
unusual  task  of  opening  it.  It  was  fastened,  I 
remembered  now,  on  my  side  by  an  old-time  iron 
bolt.  I  assumed  that  the  same  contrivance  must 
have  been  on  the  other  side.  For  as  I  unbolted 
my  bolt  the  latch  apparently  was  unsprung  and 
the  door  was  forced  outward,  and  by  me ;  and  the 
woman  pitched  forward  with  it  and  the  sickish 

rush  of  illuminating  gas  burst  in  with  her. 

94 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  95 

"I  couldn't  lift  her.  She'll  die!"  she  said  in 
a  hoarse  whisper,  and  went  down,  half  fainting, 
upon  the  floor. 

She  was  only  partly  overcome,  however,  for  she 
could  still  talk. 

"Not  me,"  she  said.  "Help  her.  Help  her. 
Hurry !" 

I  lifted  her  slightly  aside  and  went  into  the 
room.  "Lie  there,"  I  said.  "Wait." 

If  the  door  was  once  closed,  I  reasoned,  being 
still  able  to  speak,  the  woman  would  probably 
recover  in  the  practically  pure  air  of  my  room. 
In  any  case  the  obvious  thing  for  me  to  do  was 
to  take  the  girl  out  of  there.  I  took  a  deep 
breath,  went  in  and  closed  the  door. 

It  was  dark  in  that  next  room,  and  the  location 
of  the  furniture  of  the  room  was  naturally 
unfamiliar  to  me.  I  was  confused — just  shaken 
from  sound  sleep,  not  precisely  in  a  normal  state 
of  mind.  That  heavy,  nauseating  odour  of  illu- 
minating gas  was  in  my  nostrils ;  I  could  smell 
it  even  if  I  need  not  immediately  take  it  into  my 
lungs.  I  waited  several  moments,  consequently, 
before  I  could  locate  the  bed  where  the  girl  was 
probably  lying. 

There  was  an  electric  street  light  not  far  out- 
side, which  shone  in  through  a  window.  This  not 
unnaturally  was  the  first  thing  that  caught  my 


96  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

attention.  Its  rays  struck  first  upon  some 
clothing,  some  woman's  white  clothing  heaped 
upon  a  chair,  lit  a  glint  of  light  upon  a  glass 
ornament  on  a  mantlepiece  and  painted  a  sharp, 
irregular  oblong  of  light  upon  the  plain  unpapered 
wall.  In  the  centre  of  this  patch  was  the  sharply 
etched  shadow  of  a  branch  or  frond  of  a  coarse- 
leafed  tree.  A  brisk  breeze  was  blowing  outside, 
stirring  the  branches  of  the  tree;  and  the  coarse 
and  magnified  frond  of  leaf  moved  back  and  forth, 
reaching  and  retiring,  it  seemed  to  me  for  a 
second,  like  a  black  and  clutching  claw. 

Then,  far  quicker  than  the  telling  of  this, 
naturally,  I  observed  that  the  patch  of  light  and 
its  sinister-acting  shadow  was  close  to  the  great 
old-fashioned  bed,  which  lay,  in  contrast,  covered 
by  the  dim  shadow  from  its  high  black  footboard. 
I  groped  into  the  shadow  and  my  hand  fell  upon 
the  bare  arm  and  lightly  clad  shoulder  of  the  girl. 

She  lay,  I  could  now  see,  with  her  arm  trailing 
down  upon  the  floor  and  her  head  at  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  bed — a  position  into  which  her  mother 
had  dragged  her  undoubtedly  when  she  had 
reached  the  limit  of  her  strength.  I  took  the  limp 
and  yielding  body  of  the  unconscious  girl  into  my 
arms  and  started  for  the  door  again. 

By   this   time   the   necessity   for  breath   had 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  97 

become  somewhat  oppressive,  and  with  the  extreme 
effort  of  carrying  the  girl's  body  it  grew  intensely 
so.  I  knew,  however,  that  I  could  hold  out  some- 
what longer,  and  fortunately,  I  could  now  see, 
there  had  been  some  use  for  my  coming.  The 
girl  was  still  alive ;  I  could  feel  her  breathing  in 
my  arms — heavily  and  rather  slowly — but  still 
breathing  regularly. 

Then,  as  I  was  noticing  this,  through  awkward- 
ness and  unfamiliarity  with  the  dark  room,  I 
walked  against  some  low  chair  or  stool — stumbled, 
staggered  with  the  weight  in  my  arms  and  before 
I  had  caught  myself,  struck  my  unguarded  head 
against  the  wall  of  the  room.  With  the  jar  I 
almost  dropped  the  girl,  who  was  not  light  and 
a  not  inconsiderable  burden  for  me,  I  was  finding. 
I  caught  myself,  though,  before  going  quite  down. 

But  another  unfortunate  development  of  my 
accident  was  that  unconsciously  I  had,  I  assume, 
expelled  my  breath  and  taken  into  my  lungs  some 
of  that  thick,  sweet,  nauseating  gas  which  sur- 
rounded me.  At  any  rate,  with  this  and  the 
long  holding  of  my  breath  and  the  blow  of  my 
head  against  the  wall — and  no  doubt  also  from 
the  effort  of  standing  erect  with  my  now  quite 
sufficient  burden — I  lost  for  a  second  in  the  un- 
familiar room  my  sense  of  direction  in  the  dark 


98  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

and  the  exact  location  of  the  door  which  I  must 
find  and  open  up  again.  I  must  have  turned 
somewhat  in  stumbling. 

In  any  case,  the  chief  impression  I  retained 
when  I  straightened  up  was  that  I  must  get  out 
of  there  with  whatever  it  was  I  was  carrying  and 
that  there  was  one  chief  object — one  point  of 
location — in  the  room — an  angular  oblong  of 
light  upon  the  wall,  which  now  appeared  to  be  a 
lighted  window  beyond  which  a  black  claw  on  a 
long  black  arm  shot  irregularly  back  and  forth, 
with  the  obvious  ultimate  intention  of  strangling 
me  and  relieving  me  of  my  burden — an  intention 
which  I  was  under  serious  obligation  to  defeat. 
I  was  beginning  to  believe  that  I  had  made  an  error 
in  judgment  in  closing  the  door  into  my  roon 
when  I  entered  the  other. 

Fortunately,  however,  I  must  have  remembered 
the  location  of  the  doorway  from  the  chief  white 
spot  in  my  consciousness — that  irregular  lighted 
window  which  had  come  in  the  wall.  For  in  a 
minute  or  two  more  I  felt  the  cool  slipperiness  of 
the  old  pottery  door  knob  in  my  hand  and  started 
fumbling  it.  As  I  did  so,  somewhat  unsteady 
and  overbalanced  with  the  rapidly  growing  burden 
of  the  girl  in  my  arms  and  my  straining  and  now 
almost  convulsive  effort  not  to  breathe  in  the  gas 
again,  I  was  struck,  I  recall,  with  a  dazed  surprise 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  99 

and  unexpected  satisfaction  to  see  the  door  open. 
The  mother  of  the  girl,  that  so-called  Scarlet 
Cockatoo,  had,  it  appeared,  recovered  sufficiently 
in  the  fresh  air  of  my  room  to  crawl  back  to  the 
doorway  on  her  knees  and  to  open  it  when  she 
heard  me  coming. 

I  went  in  somewhat  weakly,  and  was  much 
gratified  to  have  shut  out  behind  me  the  sickening 
sweetness  of  the  gas,  the  sense  of  suffocation  and 
the  now  almost  frantic  efforts  of  the  frustated 
black  claw  at  the  diamond-shaped  window  to 
clutch  us  before  we  finally  fled  out  through  that 
dangerous  and  suffocating  dark. 

It  was  with  almost  equal  satisfaction  that  I 
heard  the  door  close  behind  me  and  expelled  at 
last  the  combination  of  used-up  air  and  illu- 
minating gas  which  clogged  my  lungs,  and  drank 
in  again  the  acute  and  too-little-appreciated 
luxury  of  oxygen.  After  that  my  strength 
was  sufficient  to  lay  the  girl  upon  the  bed — and 
start  helping  her  mother  help  her. 

"Thank  God !  Thank  God !"  I  heard  the  woman 
whispering  by  me. 

The  shock  of  getting  the  girl  back  alive  was 
sufficient,  it  appeared,  following  the  fresh  air  in 
my  room,  to  revive  her. 

The  girl — the  so-called  White  Shoulders — was 
apparently  breathing  heavily,  rather  slowly,  but 


100  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

still  quite  strongly.  We  could  not,  naturally,  see 
perfectly — not  yet  daring  to  light  the  gas,  even 
there.  There  was,  however,  some  light  from  the 
street  lamp  on  the  street. 

I  started  back  again  toward  the  door. 

"Where  to  ?"  asked  the  mother,  whispering. 

"The  gas.  I  must  turn  that  gas  jet  off,"  I 
whispered  again. 

"Don't.     I  did  that  myself !"  she  said. 

"But  the  windows,"  I  said.  "I  mu&t  open 
them." 

"There  are  two  open,"  she  said,  "already — one 
in  my  room  and  one  in  hers."  ^ 

"In  hers!"  I  said. 

"Yes.     It  was  never  closed !"  she  told  me. 

That  struck  me  as  strange,  naturally,  then,  but 
naturally  too  I  dismissed  it  right  away — with 
other  things  to  think  of. 

"Well  then,"  I  said,  "I'll  go  down  now  and 
telephone  the  doctor." 

"No !  No !"  she  whispered  back.  "Wait.  She's 
coming  to.  See — she's  moving  a  little  already." 

The  girl  actually  did  move — and  gave  a  little 
moan.  She  had  all  the  advantages  of  youth  and 
perfect  health,  and  the  gas  probably  had  never 
been  so  dense  in  there  as  we  had  thought.  By 
this  time  all  the  windows  in  my  room  were  open, 
and  the  outside  air,  driven  id  by  a  strong  breeze 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  101 

was  entirely  pure  and  fresh.  I  started  now  to 
light  the  gas. 

"No.  No.  Please!"  the  woman  said,  pre- 
venting me. 

And  again  the  white  girl  on  the  bed  moved. 

"But  I  must  call  a  doctor,"  I  said,  still  whisper- 
ing. 

"No.  No,"  repeated  the  woman.  Not  if  we 
can  possibly  help,  sir.  Not  now — if  we  can 
possibly  help  it." 

"But,  madam,"  I  said,  "all  that  poison  in  the 
girl's  system " 

"No,  sir,"  she  told  me,  turning  back  from  where 
she  was  bending  down  above  the  girl.  "I  know 
what  to  do.  I  saw  one  case  before.  We  can  do 
all  a  doctor  could  now — more — from  being  right 
here  now.  And  besides,  she's  coming  to  now  fast. 
She  was  just  trying  to  open  her  eyes.  She's 
almost " 

"But,  madam,"  I  insisted,  "a  doctor  is  posi- 
tively  " 

"Listen!"  she  whispered  back  sharply. 
"There's  somebody  downstairs." 

There  was  some  one — entering  the  house  by  the 
front  door. 

"We  can't  have  this  known,  judge.  We  can't 
have  it  get  out,  sir,"  she  told  me  in  a  strident 
hurried  whisper.  "We  can't  do  it,  sir.  I  can't 


102  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

explain  to  you  now.  But  it  would  be  the  last  blow 
for  us.  We'd  better  both  be  dead !" 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  saw  the  girl  appeared  to 
be  breathing  much  better  now.  We  stood  and 
waited  in  the  dark.  The  steps  came  up  the  stairs 
— very  lightly,  very  carefully.  I  suspected, 
naturally,  who  it  would  be — Cupid  Calvert  back 
again  from  another  affair  of  the  heart. 

The  steps   came  to  the  top  of  the  stairway. 

"He'll  smell  the  gas,"  said  the  woman  beside 
me  in  a  despairing  whisper.  "He'll  certainly 
smell  the  gas." 

The  steps  stole  by,  started  on  toward  the  third 
story,  where  Calvert  had  his  room,  wavered, 
stopped,  and  then  in  a  moment  came  stealing 
over  toward  my  side  of  the  hall. 

I  could  almost  watch  the  woman  cringe  and 
shrink  together  in  the  dark.  I  saw,  too,  that 
something  had  to  be  done.  I  could  only  hope 
that  it  was  Calvert  and  he  was  in  the  not  unusual 
and  not  too  clear  state  of  mind  in  which  he  was 
apt  to  find  himself  at  this  hour  in  the  morning. 
It  must  have  been  at  that  time  about  two  o'clock. 

It  occurred  to  me,  from  the  women's  standpoint 
or  my  own,  if  we  were  going  to  try  to  hush  this 
matter  up  the  situation  was  not  without  elements 
of  embarrassment,  I  having  these  two  women  in  my 
room.  In  any  case,  Cupid  Calvert  was  the  last 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  103 

human  being  we  would  want  concerned  in  the 
matter  in  any  phase. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do.  I  put  my 
finger  on  my  lips,  looked  at  the  woman  and  walked 
over  and  opened  the  door.  I  stepped  out  quickly 
into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door  after  me. 

"Who's  prowling  round  out  here  ?"  I  said ;  and  I 
grabbed  him  by  the  collar  with  what  few  remnants 
of  vigour  I  still  possessed. 


IX 


1WAS  right  in  my  conjecture — and  in  my 
action.  It  is  something  of  a  shock  to  be 
grabbed  like  that  in  the  dark — especially 
when  you  yourself  are  not  particularly  anxious 
to  create  unnecessary  disturbance. 

"Listen,"  said  a  familiar  voice  in  a  quick  ancl, 
it  seemed  to  me,  somewhat  frightened  whisper. 
"It's  only  me— Calvertl" 

"What  were  you,"  I  asked  him  in  a  whisper 
myself,  "just  peering  through  my  keyhole  for, 
the  view,  or  plotting  to  murder  me  in  my  bed?" 

"Listen,"  he  said.     "Don't  you  smell  it?" 

"What?" 

"Gas." 

I  chuckled  then — managed  to — in  the  dark. 
"Oh,  that's  it?"  I  said.  "Well,  I  should  say  I 
didl  But  I  thought  maybe  I'd  got  it  out — by 
this  time." 

"What — what  happened?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"Well,  sir,"  I  said  to  him — we  were  both  talking, 
naturally,  in  whispers  all  the  time — "it  was  a 
104 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  105 

thing  that  never  happened  to  me  in  my  life  before. 
I  was  sitting  there  by  that  gas  jet  by  the  window 
reading — and  fell  asleep.  And  when  I  woke  up 
it  was  dark  and  the  room  was  full  of  gas." 

"Oh,  was  that  it?"  he  said. 

I  could  tell  now  from  his  voice,  and  breath  as 
well,  that,  quite  fortunately,  he  was  in  a  state 
not  generally  considered  best  for  clear-cut  mental 
operations. 

"That  heavy  breeze  blowing  in  the  window!"  I 
said.  "Is  it  strong  out  here,"  I  asked  him — - 
"the  smeU  of  it?" 

"I  should  say  it  was,"  he  told  me,  in  that 
thick,  somewhat  damp  whisper. 

"Well,  it's  all  over  with  now,  anyhow,"  I  said, 
reaching  back  and  taking  hold  of  my  door  knob. 
"And  I  expect  you  won't  smell  it  much  longer. 
I've  got  all  the  windows  open.  Where've  you 
been?"  I  asked  him.  "Out  on  another  amour?" 

"Oh,  no,  judge.  Nothing  like  that.  Nothing 
like  that !"  he  said ;  and  I  could  almost  hear  him 
grinning  in  the  dark. 

"Well,"  I  told  him,  "crawl  along  upstairs  or 
we'll  wake  up  the  madam,  standing  gossiping 
here.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  I  whispered, 
"before  you  go.  I'll  sign  articles  of  confed- 
eration with  you.  I  ain't  proud  of  what 
I've  just  done,  exactly;  and  if  you'll  agree  to 


106  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

overlook  it — when  tempted  to  humour  in  jour 
conversation  tomorrow  or  thereafter — I'll  endeav- 
our not  to  call  the  attention  of  Madam  Tusset 
to  your  continued  devotion  to  late  affairs  of  the 
human  affections,  which  I  see  you  are  still  en- 
tangled with." 

"Oh,  nothing  like  that,  judge.  You've  got 
me  wrong  this  time,"  said  Cupid.  "But  at 
that  you  know  I'd  never  give  you  away — in  any 
of  your  little  sins  or  shortcomings.  And  I  know 
you  wouldn't  me,  either." 

"That  expresses  my  feelings  exactly,"  I 
whispered  back. 

And  I  knew  when  he  turned  and  went  along 
that  there  would  probably  be  nothing  said  from 
that  quarter.  His  tenure  of  station  had  grown 
a  little  precarious  in  recent  weeks  from  his  various 
protracted  and  late  night  excursions,  which  were 
not  to  the  taste  of  Madam  Tus&et,  who  was 
credited,  in  fact,  with  the  intention  of  turning 
him  out  from  that  highly  respectable  house  on 
the  next  and  slightest  evidence  of  any  lapses 
from  high  moral  or  social  standards. 

So  he  stole  upstairs  and  I  turned  back  into 
the  room. 

"Now,  then,  -about  the  doctor,"  I  said.  "It 
seems  to  me " 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  107 

''She's  all  right  now,"  said  the  mother.  "She's 
coming  out  fine,  sir." 

"But "  I  started. 

"Judge,"  she  broke  in  on  me,  "please,  sir, 
don't  insist  on  that.  We  can't  do  it.  On  top 
of  what's  happened  already,  sir.  It  would 
destroy  us !" 

I  lighted  the  gas  then  finally  and  I  turned  with 
her  and  looked  at  the  girl  on  the  bed.  She  did 
seem  almost  recovered.  Her  face  was  somewhat 
flushed,  from  the  effects  of  the  gas,  I  expect.  But 
she  was  breathing  naturally  and  regularly.  As 
she  lay  there  I  thought  she  was  pretty  near  the 
most  beautiful  human  creature  I  ever  saw. 

"You  see,  judge,"  said  the  mother,  "she's 
coming  out  all  right.  She's  almost  out  already." 

And  as  she  said  this  the  girl  moved,  opened 
her  great  eyes,  looked  at  us — first  her  mother 
and  then  me,  steadily  and  with  wonder — and 
spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"I  know,  mother.  I  know,"  she  said.  "I  had 
— no  right — to  die!"  she  said  faintly.  "I  won't 


And  her  eyes  closed  heavily,  as  if  to  shut  the 
unwelcome  world  out  once  again. 

Her  mother  was  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside 
now. 


108  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"You  wicked!,  wicked  girl!"  she  cried  in  that 
continued  whisper  which  we  both  still  used,  and 
burst  into  a  great  silent  paroxysm  of  weeping 
— of  relief,  no  doubt,  from  her  anxiety  and  terror. 

I  stood  aside  and  let  her  weep  it  out,  purge 
her  soul  of  its  emotion;  and  thought  meanwhile 
of  the  girl's  extraordinary  greeting  to  returning 
life. 

"I  had — no  right — to  die !"  I  said  over  to  my- 
self, and  looked  at  that  exquisite  creature  in 
her  sheer  and  exquisite  white  garments  in  my 
bed,  who  wanted,  for  reasons  of  her  own, 
apparently,  to  give  up  life — destroy  herself. 

"This  certainly  is  a  strange  affair,"  I  told 
myself. 

The  beauty  of  the  girl  was  all  the  more  marked 
by  its  contrast  with  the  haggard,  disheveled 
person  of  the  mother.  The  woman's  not  too 
abundant  hair  was  tangled  upon  her  head;  the 
crow's-feet  at  her  eyes  and  the  stringy  thinness 
of  her  neck  showed,  undisguised;  and  the  rouge 
of  her  cheeks,  bleared  by  her  weeping,  stared 
out  in  strange  red  relief  against  her  dry  and 
whitened  skin  in  the  trying  greenish  light  which 
comes  from  gas  in  a  mantle  burner. 

"Madam,"  I  said  finally,  when  I  saw  she  had 
about  completed  her  weeping,  "you  may  be  right. 
You  know  your  own  affairs — and  your  necessities. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  109 

She  is  your  own  child.  Suppose  we  do  this — sup- 
pose we  wait  and  see,  a  little  longer,  about  the 
doctor." 

"You  understand,  don't  you?"  she  asked, 
catching  me  by  the  sleeve.  "But  no,  you  can't, 
either!  I'm  not  inhuman.  I'm  not  an  inhuman 
mother,  sir,  but  I'm  a  desperate  one.  I'm  a 
desperate  woman  in  a  desperate  situation,  and 
the  least  thing  more  now  would  destroy  us." 

"It  is  not  necessary,  madam,"  I  said,  "to 
explain.  I'll  take  your  word  for  it." 

The  girl  had  opened  her  eyes  now  and  lay 
staring  at  us.  "She's  done  that  before,"  her 
mother  explained  to  me.  "When  you  were  out- 
side." 

"I  see.  All  right,"  I  said.  "And  as  far  as 
I  go  in  this  matter,  you  must  not  worry — about 
my  discretion,"  I  told  her.  I  thought  I  would 
reassure  her.  "In  my  business  men  are — or 
should  be — graveyards  full  of  just  such  matters." 

She  murmured  something  about  a  mother's 
blessing,  a  mother's  gratitude,  and  tried  to  take 
my  hand. 

"Tomorrow,"  she  said! — "or  when  I  can — I 
want  to  see  you — to  explain — everything." 

The  girl  now  lay  there,  apparently  rapidly 
recovering,  looking  at  us  steadily  with  her  wide- 
opened  eyes  and  then  closing  them  calmly. 


110  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Any  time,  madam,"  I  told  her  mother,  "that 
I  can  be  of  any  assistance  to  you!  But  in  the 
meanwhile,"  I  said,  "I  expect  we'd  better  count  on 
letting  matters  stand  as  they  are  now — on  your 
keeping  my  room  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  And 
I'll  venture  into  your  rooms  now  and  find  out  how 
much  they  are  cleared  out  from  gas.  They  should 
be  pretty  well  by  this  time — especially  with  this 
breeze  that's  blowing  in  here  now.  And  if  so,  I 
can  go  in  there  and  stay — after — maybe  you  may 
want  to  go  into  your  own  room  yourself." 

For  she  not  only  was  a  somewhat  ghastly 
revelation  with  her  hair  and  smeared  face  but  she 
was  clothed  only  in  her  night  garments  and  some 
sort  of  a  ribboned  dressing  gown,  and  with  th 
recovery  of  the  girl  we  were  both  becoming 
conscious  of  the  fact. 

I  went  in  there  and  found  both  their  chambers 
practicaDy  free  from  the  gas  fumes.  And  the 
woman — this  Mrs.  Fairborn,  so-called — went  in 
then  and  made  a  hasty  toilet  in  her  room. 

I  sat  there  while  she  was  gone,  slightly  away 
from  the  bedside,  watching  that  white  young 
creature  in  my  bed.  Her  eyes  opened  occasionally 
and  gazed  at  me  with  the  calm  indifference  of 
folks  who,  at  the  edge  of  unconsciousnes  or  death, 
seem  interested  in  larger  and  more  serene  affairs. 

I  sat  and  watched  that  wonderful  young  girl, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  111 

with  all  her  life,  all  her  extraordinary  beauty, 
speculating,  turning  over  in  my  mind  the  possible 
reasons  for  her  act  and  for  those  words — that 
first  singular  statement  on  her  return  to  life: 
"I  had— no  right— to  die !" 

She  said  'nothing  more,  just  lay  there.  Her 
mother  came  in  again — dressed — more  normal. 
After  a  few  minutes  more  I  went  into  her  room 
and  left  her  with  the  girl. 

About  dawn  we  helped  her  back  into  her  own 
bed. 

"Judge,"  said  the  mother  in  parting,  "never, 
sir,  can  I  forget  what  you  have  done  for  us  to- 
night. You  have  put  us  under  an  obligation, 
sir,  which  is  more  than  we  can  ever  repay.  Aside 
from  saving  my  daughter's  life,  you  have  saved 
us — even  more!  More  than  you  can  ever  know 
— not  being  a  mother  or  a  woman,  sir.  We  were 
more  than  fortunate  in  having  come  to  our  rescue 
not  only  a  hero,  sir,  but  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
of  discretion." 

"About  my  qualities  as  a  hero,  ma'am,  I  have 
my  doubts,"  I  said,  "but  I  am  certain  sure  that 
you  can  count  on  my  discretion.  And  if  there 
is  any  other  way  in  which  I  can  serve  you  in 
your  affairs,"  I  told  her,  "I  hope  you  will  com- 
mand me." 

"Bless  you  for  that  too,"  said  the  woman — 


112  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

the  natural  normal  effusiveness  of  the  Scarlet 
Cockatoo  returning,  with  a  return  of  hope  and 
vigour.  "A  mother's  blessing  will  follow  you  for- 
ever, sir,  and  I  shall  take  advantage  of  what 
you  now  say  and  see  you  in  your  office  not  later, 
I  hope,  than  tomorrow — or  today,  I  should  say 
sir."  For  the  light  of  another  morning  was 
now  already  well  come. 

Her  restless,  nervous  manner  had  returned  to 
her  with  a  return  to  taking  up  again  the  fixed 
and  pressing  burdens  of  life.  Her  face  showed 
drawn  and  haggard  in  the  light  of  a  new  dawn 
— the  face,  it  occurred  to  me,  of  a  small  animal, 
too  weak  for  the  forces  round  it,  which  must 
make  up,  day  and  night,  by  nervous  alertness 
and  vigilance  and  excitement  what  it  lacks  in 
strength — until  in  some  mistake,  maybe,  it  darts 
finally  of  its  own  motion  to  its  own  destruction 
— into  danger,  out  of  life. 

The  girl  was  immediately  lost  in  a  deep  and 
peaceful  sleep  in  the  bed  where  we  had  laid  her. 
I  was  soon  in  my  own  room,  in  a  rest  as  entire 
and  profound. 

Of  all  of  us  three,  in  five  minutes  from  the 
time  I  had  left  them,  only  the  mother,  I  believe, 
was  awake — watching  with  strained  eyes  and 
painted  face  the  sleeping  girl  upon  the  great 
old-time  black-walnut  bed. 


WHEN   I   came   dowristairs   finally,  late 
for  breakfast,  the  woman,  the  Scarlet 
Cockatoo,   so-called,   was  there  before 
me,  in  full  war  paint,   as   Calvert  would  have 
said;    apparently    no    worse — certainly    no    dif- 
ferent to  the  naked  eye — than  usual.     She  was 
evidently  just  in   receipt  of  her  morning  mail. 

"I  don't  see  your  daughter  down  this  morning, 
ma'am,"  I  said,  bowing  to  her.  "I  trust  she  is 
not  ill." 

"Just  a  headache,  judge,  thank  you,  sir,"  she 
said,  looking  at  me,  straight  in  the  eyes,  "which 
came  on  rather  sudden  in  the  night.  But  she's 
a  whole  lot  better  now,  and  by  noontime,  sir,  we 
hope  she  will  be  up  and  downstairs  for  luncheon." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  I  said. 

And  then  the  person,  whoever  il  was,  who  was 
standing  near  us,  moved  off. 

"Judge,"  said  the  Fairborn  woman  in  a  lower 
voice,  "when  are  you  going  to  be  in  your  office 
today — during  this  morning,  sir?" 

"Madam,"   I   answered,   "any  time.     Just  aa 
113 


WHITE  SHOULDERS 

soon  as  I  get  through  here  with  mj  breakfast." 

"I'm  afraid,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  lower  voice 
still,  "I've  got  to  pester  you  again  with  my 
affairs.  I  hate  to — but  this  is  imperative,  sir. 
I've  had  another  thing  this  morning  come  to 
bother  me." 

"Any  time,  ma'am,"  I  told  her.  "It's  a 
pleasure." 

"Would  right  away — would  nine-thirty  be  too 
early?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  I  said.  "I'll  be  delighted  to 
see  you  at  that  hour." 

I  noticed  then  the  extra  sharpness  of  her  voice 
and  that  letter  she  held  in  her  hand. 

By  nine-thirty  we  were  closed  up  in  conference 
in  my  office. 

"Your  daughter,  ma'am,"  I  asked  her,  "is  all 
right,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir,  judge,"  she  said,  "with  a  thousand 
thousand  thanks  to  you,  sir." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,  ma'am,"  I  told  her. 

"But  now,"  she  said,  "that's  scarcely  over 
when  this  comes  up — a  part,  sir,  of  what  happened 
last  night — the  reason !" 

"Go  ahead,  ma'am,"  I  told  her,  sitting  back — 
wondering  if  I  was  about  to  be  let  in  and  informed 
on  her  mystery. 

"It's  about  this  letter,"  she  told  me,  "which 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  115 

just  arrived  this  morning — which  I  must  have 
your  advice  upon,  sir,  right  off — this  morning." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Doubtless,"  she  answered  me,  "sir,  you've 
heard  about  that  man — that  dressmaker.  You've 
heard  them  whispering  various  (stories,  I  expect, 
about  that  man  from  St.  Louis,  who  disturbed 
my  daughter  so  on  the  day  of  that  festival." 

"I  knew  it  was  believed,  in  some  way,"  I  told 
her,  "that  man  was  in  some  way  concerned  in  it. 
Who  was  this  man — if  that's  a  fair  question, 
ma'am?" 

"Gluber,  his  name  is,"  she  told  me.  "He's  a 
dressmaker — or  rather,  sir,  a  seller  of  dresses  in 
St.  Louis." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  and  waited. 

"That  we,"  she  went  on — "to  put  it  frank  and 
open — owe  a  heap  of  money  to." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  said. 

"For  my  daughter's  wardrobe." 

I  sat  and  waited. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  judge,  all  I  have  time  to 
just  now,  sir.  I  want  to  make  you  my  full  con- 
fidant and  get  your  invaluable  advice  on  what  I 
am  confronted  with,  sir." 

"My  advice  is  your's,  ma'am,"  I  said,  studying 
her,  "for  the  asking.  I  won't  guarantee  anything 
about  its  value  to  you." 


116  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

She  went  on  then  and  opened  up  one  corner  of 
her  woman's  speculation  to  me. 

"You've  heard  more  or  less,  doubtless,  sir,  the 
various  comments  on  me  and  my  daughter — the 
things  they  talk  concerning  us  coming  in  here,  sir, 
trying  to  snatch  away  some  man  or  other,  some 
husband  from  the  other  marriageable  girls  here. 
Well,  sir,"  she  said,  "I  admit  it,  sir,  so  far  as  I 
myself  am  concerned.  I  came  here  looking  for  a 
husband  for  my  girl.  I  make  no  shame  nor 
apology  for  it,  sir.  I'm  doing  just  what  every 
sensible  mother  wants  to  do,  if  she  speaks  the  truth 
— marry  off  her  daughter  to  advantage. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  judge,"  she  went  on,  "I 
was  reared  and  trained  up  like  you  was,  I  expect, 
in  the  good  old-fashioned  Southern  way.  I've  seen 
some  of  the  new  ways — of  these  girls  who  start 
on  some  new  idea,  to  earn  a  living  for  themselves. 
That  may  be  all  right  for  a  while,  sir,  a  certain 
period.  But  finally,  in  the  end,  it  all  comes  down, 
with  any  real  woman,  to  whether  she's  married 
to  advantage.  That's  a  woman's  real  business, 
getting  married.  And  you  know  it  and  I  do — 
and  the  more  we  recognize  it  the  more  sensible  it's 
apt  to  come  out.  And  the  better  for  her." 

"Not  always  the  most  money,  maybe,"  I  said, 
trying  her. 

"Do    you    think    so,    judge?"    she    said.     "I 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  117 

don't.     Money's  a  mighty  useful  thing  to  have." 

"Nobody  can  successfully  refute  that,  I  expect, 
madam,"  I  said. 

"I  know  something,  sir,"  she  said,  "about  that 
from  hard  experience.  I  married — nothing — for 
love!" 

"You  mean  to  convey  it  wasn't  a  success, 
ma'am?" 

"No,  sir,  it  was  not,"  she  told  me.  "I  starved 
to  death  for  twenty  years.  I  lost  my  looks  and 
the  best  part  of  my  life  planning,  laughing,  keep- 
ing up  and  protecting  appearances — for  an  easy- 
going, happy-go-lucky  husband,  who  stayed  with 
me  till  he  didn't  like  my  looks,  the  looks  he'd  lost 
me,  working  to  keep  him  up  a  decent  appearance 
before  the  world  by  smiling  and  dragging  along 
his  affairs  and  borrowing  and  begging  for  his 
broken-down  old  plantation — till  he  went  off  and 
left  me.  And  then  afterward  he  died,"  she  added. 
"Oh,  you  can't  tell  me,  judge,"  she  went  on,  her 
voice  rising  up  and  sharpening,  "that  there's  any 
fairness  between  men  and  women,  because  there's 
not.  After  a  woman's  looks  are  gone  she's  gone 
with  them — so  far  as  you  men  are  concerned.  I 
know  that.  You  think  I'm  funny,  I  expect, 
judge,"  she  went  on  explaining  herself  now  while 
I  watched  her — "my  actions,  my  laughing  and 
carrying  on.  Everybody  does;  I  know  that. 


118  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

But  they  wouldn't,  maybe,  if  they'd  had  to  do  it 
themselves  twenty-five  years,  as  I  have,  for  a 
living.  It  gets  engraved  on  you  after  awhile — 
into  your  nerves ;  and  when  you  do  it  you  get 
hysterical  and  get  away  from  yourself.  Oh,  I 
know! 

"But  anyhow,"  she  went  on  after  awhile,  "what- 
ever you  may  think  about  me,  sir,  when  my  little 
girl  came  I  made  up  my  mind  she'd  never  do  what 
I  did.  She'd  never  go  through  life  smiling  and 
scraping  and  patching  up  appearances  like  I  did 
for  a  man,  who  would  give  nothing  for  her  in  the 
end — not  even  his  love  and  affection.  Not  if  I 
could  prevent  it,  anyway ! 

"But  this  don't  get  us  anywhere,"  she  said  then, 
starting  up  and  bringing  out  this  letter.  "Espe- 
cially as  I  want  to  get  away — as  my  train  gets 
out  now  inside  of  two  hours. 

"You're  going  away!"  I  said,  surprised. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered;  "to  St.  Louis." 

"And  take  the  girl?"  I  asked  her. 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  she  said.  "Just  temporarily — 
on  business.  I'll  be  back  tomorrow  or  the  next 
day.  Now  look  at  this,  sir,"  she  said,  and  spread 
the  typewritten  letter  before  me,  that  abusive 
screed  from  that  dressmaker. 

I  took  it  and  read  it  through — to  the  last  par- 
agraph. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  119 

It  ran  about  like  this : 

So  you  should  play  a  funny  business  on  me,  huh? 
With  your  bunk  stories  on  a  marriage.  Nix  for 
that.  I'm  no  simp,  to  stand  for  that  again.  So 
now  we  are  going  back  and  begin  over  again. 
Youll  dig  up  that  $750  that's  still  coming  from 
somewhere,  or  the  letters  start  again.  Maybe 
by  this  time  you  should  hear  from  one  already 
— the  first  one  only.  Come  now,  be  sudden,  or 
you'll  hear  right  off  again  from 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

A.  Gluber. 

"Who's  that?"  I  asked,  knowing  right  well  who 
it  must  be. 

"The  one  that  was  here — that's  caused  every- 
thing— that  terrible  thing  last  night!" 

"Who?     That  dressmaker?" 

"That  fiend,  Gluber,  who's  always  hunting  us." 

"For  what?" 

"For  that  money  we  still  owe  him  on  account 
— that  he's  always  chasing  us  around  for." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said  to  her. 

And  she  went  on  then  with  the  details  and  spec- 
ifications of  her  disastrous  adventure. 

"I  was  left,  sir,"  she  said,  "with  this  one  boy 
and  one  girl — and  this  old  mortgaged  plantation 


120  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

I've  been  telling  you  about.  We  were  the  best 
blood  in  the  South — my  family,  the  Fairborns, 
sir." 

"Your  family!"  I  said  after  her.  "I  thought 
your  married  name  was  Fairborn." 

"I  took  my  family  name  back,"  she  said, 
"awjhile  after  the  separation.  But  then,  after 
that,  sir,"  she  went  on,  "everything  went  wrong. 
The  plantation — which  was  nothing  in  the  first 
place — ran  down  and  down.  And  then  finally 
my  boy,  my  Robert  Lee,  got  in  this  awful  trouble. 
He  was  nothing  but  a  boy,  sir.  He  shot  a  man. 
Justifiably,  everybody  said,  sir.  He  just  had  to! 
But  they  sent  him  to  the  penitentiary,  sir,  never- 
theless." 

She  stopped  and  wiped  her  lips  in  her  excite- 
ment. I  could  see  the  red  spot  from  her  painted 
lips  come  off  on  her  handkerchief.  I  asked 
her  nothing,  let  her  go  on,  in  her  own  time. 

"So  you  see,"  she  said — evidently  after  a  little 
consideration  of  what  she  should  say  next — "all 
I  had  left,  all  there  was  of  the  Fairborn  blood — 
that  had  made  Dell  County  what  it  was — that  the 
county  seat  was  named  for,  sir — was  just  my  girl. 
I  was  determined  she  should  be  something — have 
the  chance  I  never  did.  I  was  determined  she 
should  marry  right  and  well — to  advantage — to 
a  man  who  was  her  equal  in  blood  and  her  superior 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  121 

in  fortune,  sir.  And  it  became  clear  to  me  that 
that  was  the  one  way  to  keep  the  Fairborns  and 
the  Fairborn  name  from  sinking  out  of  sight  in 
the  ground,  like  so  many  of  our  best  Southern 
names  have  done,  sir,  forever.  It  was  not  only 
for  the  girl,  sir — it  was  for  the  whole  family — 
after  those  terrible  disasters  we  had  gone 
through." 

"I  understand  you,  ma'am,"  I  said  when  she 
stopped  and  panted — from  excitement,  appar- 
ently, and  weariness,  partly,  no  doubt,  I  thought, 
watching  her,  from  that  night  before. 

"You've  seen  the  girl,  sir,"  she  said  to  me. 
"She's  a  girl  that  anybody'd  be  proud  to  marry 
— any  man  in  the  whole  world,  sir.  Ain't  that 
true,  Judge  Dalrymple,  sir?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  I  told  her. 

"So  I  determined,  some  way,  I  would  take  her 
out  and  away  from  home." 

"Away  from  home?"  I  said  after  her. 

"She  couldn't  stay  there,  could  she,  after  that 
awful  affair  of  Robert  Lee's — that  shooting? 
Could  she,  sir?"  she  said  to  me. 

I  felt  at  that  time,  while  she  was  talking,  that 
she  knew  as  well  as  I  that  there  was  something 
more  there  which  I  should  have  been  informed 
about.  Right  there,  doubtless,  I  could  under- 
stand, very  likely  might  be  the  murder — that  case 


122  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

referred  to  in  the  anonymous  letter — the  Pitman 
murder  case.  But  I  could  feel  her  wince  away 
from  it,  I  thought — instinctively  defending  a  sore 
spot — and  I  sat  still  as  she  went  along,  talking 
fast,  explaining  her  next  move. 

"So  I  made  up  my  mind,  sir,  we'd  go  out  to  some 
city — where  I  could  get  letters  to  or  get  acquain- 
ted in  some  way — and  Virginia  should  have  her 
chance — like  every  girl  should  have." 

I  nodded. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  speaking  faster  as  she  went 
along,  "she  had — we  had — just  one  thing  left 
out  of  everything.  Her  beauty.  The  Fairborns 
were  always  noted,  sir,  for  their  lovely  women. 
But  no  one  I  ever  saw  or  read  about  was  just 
like  her." 

"She  is  a  wonderful  fine  girl,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  went  on.  "That  was  about  all 
that  was  left  to  all  the  Fairborns — this  one  girl. 
So  I  said,  sir,  I'd  take  her  to  some  other  city — to 
some  place  where  she  would  meet  nice  men — the 
kind  that  she  should  have  and  that  should  have 
her.  You  know  what  marrying  men  there  are  in 
a  place  like  Dell  County.  There  ain't  any.  So 
I  said  she  should  go  somewhere,  if  it  took  our 
last  cent.  And  then  I  made  that  terrible  mistake 
about " 

"About  what?"  I  said,  prompting  her  finally. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  123 

"This  terrible  dressmaker — this  fiend  of  a 
Gluber." 

"How  so?"  I  asked  her. 

"I  heard  there  were  such  things — of  men  in 
St.  Louis  and  other  cities  who  made  it  their 
business,  sir,  to  furnish  clothes — wardrobes  of 
clothes — to  various  women — such  as  women  of  the 
stage,  sir — and  let  them  pay  them  after  awhile, 
part  at  a  time — by  giving  some  sort  of  notes  or 
papers." 

"Some  instalment  plan,  I  presume." 

"Yes,  sir.  Exactly,  sir,"  she  went  on.  "You'll 
think  I  was  foolish,  but  I  was  desperate.  I  was 
determined,  sir,  that  my  baby,  my  Virginia,  should 
have  her  chance;  and  she  couldn't  ever  hope  to 
have  it  unless  I  did  something  like  that  to  get  her 
ready." 

"Ready !"  I  said  after  her. 

"To  dress  her  up.  All  she  had  in  the  world 
was  just  those  few  old  rags  of  my  old  wardrobe 
— a  few  old  country  duds  that  I  could  afford  to 
buy  her.  Oh,  you  know  that,  judge!"  she  said. 

"Know  what?" 

"You  know  how  much  you  men  have  got  to  have 
done  for  you  by  women  dressing  themselves  up. 
How  much  chance  a  girl  would  have  with  no 
dresses  or,  worse  yet,  in  country  clothes.  How 
soon  she'd  get  laughed  out  of  town — by  the  other 


124.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

women  and  the  men — and  you  yourself.  It's 
unfortunate,  sir,"  she  went  along,  "but  you  men 
are  pretty  mighty  exacting  of  us  women — in  looks 
and  manners  and  behaviour  and  every  way.  More 
so,  I  expect,  than  you  have  any  idea  of,  sir.  I 
expect  it's  only  natural,  but  it's  true  just  the 
same — especially  about  looks.  A  girl's  got  to 
have  dresses  nowadays  to  get  anywhere.  Oh,  I 
didn't  go  into  this  without  thinking,  judge.  I 
didn't  act  before  I  went  down  deep  into  the  whole 
thing — and  saw  that  if  I  was  going  to  do  any- 
thing I'd  have  to  do  it  right — and  big.  I  was 
handicapped  enough,  as  it  was.  I  saw  I'd  have 
to  go  through  the  whole  thing — right — in  order 
to  go  with  good  people,  the  kind  of  people  I'd  want 
to,  that  the  Fairborns  naturally  would  care  to 
associate  their  daughter  with,  sir;  that  I'd  have 
to  act  and  live  and  dress  her  as  near  as  possible  as 
they  would." 

"But  let  me  ask  you  this,"  I  asked  her,  when 
she  stopped  a  minute.  "How'd  you  come  to  get  in 
with  that  Gluber — that  kind  of  cattle — such  aa 
that  dressmaker  looks  to  be?" 

"It  was  all  my  own  doing,  judge,"  she  told  me. 
"I  saw  somewhere  about  there  being  such  people — 
and  I  had  to  do  something.  And  so  I  went  up  to 
St.  Louis,  sir,  and  I  went  round  and  asked 
questions  till  finally  I  found  this  man." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  125 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "So  you  got  tied  up  with 
this  fellow — this  dressmaker  in  St.  Louis — for  the 
purpose  of  doing  this." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  took  that  gamble — on  your  daughter's 
looks?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  what  it  was,  I  expect.  A 
gamble — for  her  sake  and  for  ours." 

"And  this  man — this  dealer  in  costumes — 
financed  you,  you  might  say." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  "that  was  it." 

"And  then  what?" 

"And  then,  sir,  you  see,  it  was  this  way.  I  paid 
him,  Gluber,  down  what  I  could,  then." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"I  couldn't  pay  him  all.  I  had  to  have  money 
to  live  on — to  travel  with,  you  understand." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  understand." 

"Of  course  I  had  pretty  mighty  little,  sir,  after 
what  I'd  just  been  through;  after  my  boy's  trial, 
and  all  that.  And  I  had  to  keep  quite  a  consider- 
able amount  for  our  expenses,  sir.  So  I  let  the 
plantation  go — for  what  I  could  realize  on  it,  sir, 
over  and  above  the  mortgages.  It  wasn't  giving 
us  a  living." 

I  whistled  to  myself,  thinking  it  over — that 
woman's  speculation  and  the  logic  back  of  it. 

"And  you   set  out  with   your   girl,"   I   said, 


126  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

prompting  her  along,  now  she  had  stopped  again. 

"Yes,  sir;  to  Louisville,  sir." 

"And  then  what?" 

"That's  where  our  troubles  began,  judge.  It 
was  this  way.  We'd  just  got  established  in  Louis- 
ville, you  might  say,  meeting  some  fine  lovely  cul- 
tivated people — people  with  large  means,  sir — 
through  letters  and  various  ways  I  had,  when  this 
dressmaker,  this  fiend  of  a  Gluber,  started  in 
against  us." 

"For  his  money?" 

"Yes,  sir.  For  the  note  I  had  given  him.  He 
claimed  I  hadn't  been  fair — that  I'd  misrepre- 
sented things  to  him  about  what  I  had  for  prop- 
erty, sir.  Maybe  I  did,  sir,  some.  I  may  have  let 
him  think  some  ideas  he  had  already — about  our 
having  more  property  than  we  actually  had. 
I  won't  say  I  didn't,  sir.  I  had  to  have  that 
money — I  just  had  to." 

"I  understand,"  I  said.  "And  then  he  took 
after  you  in  Louisville." 

"Yes,  sir.  We  were  just  getting  started  there. 
Virginia  was  just  getting  acquainted  with  the 
nicest  young  people  when  he  came  on  asking  for 
this  money — that  I  couldn't  pay  him." 

"What  did  you  do  then,  ma'am?" 

"What  could  I  do,  judge?     I  couldn't  pay  out 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  127 

what  money  I  had  to  pay  for  our  expenses.     I 
couldn't  do  that  and  be  left,  sir " 

"With  both  the  dresses  and  the  girl !" 

"Yes,  sir.     Precisely.     And  nothing  else." 

"So  what  did  you  do?" 

"I  tried  to  hold  him  off,  sir." 

"And  then  what?" 

"Then  he  started  on  those  letters — those  anony- 
mous letters,  to  other  folks,  to  make  me  pay.  He 
thought,  naturally,  and  still  does,  too,  that  we 
could  pay  some  way  if  we  wanted  to ;  or  we  could 
get  some  relation  to  somewhere — for  the  sake  of 
family  pride,  sir.  The  Fairborns  have  always 
held  their  heads  high,  sir,  in  our  part  of  the 
country.  And  it  seems  that's  what  he  does  all 
the  time — dealing  with  women  the  way  he  does. 
That's  the  way  he  works  with  them." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Scaring  them,  always  scaring  them — different 
ways.  Married  women  who  come  to  him  secretly 
— scaring  them  that  he'll  tell  their  husbands ;  and 
stage  women,  other  women — scaring  them  all  in 
different  ways,  according  to  how  he  can  best  ter- 
rify them.  A  regular  bloodhound,  sir — always 
hounding  them  down,  scaring  them  to  make  them 
pay  him." 

"A  kind  of  blackmail  enterprise." 


128  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"I  expect  you'd  call  it  so." 

"And  what  did  he  do  with  you — with  those 
letters?  How  could  he  find  out  about  whom  to 
write  them  to  in  the  first  place?" 

"It  seems,  judge,  he's  been  everywhere.  It 
seems  he  knows  all  the  collection  agencies — all 
the  instalment  folks  that  get  part  payments  from 
people.  There's  an  army  of  them,  all  over.  It's 
a  great  big  business,  judge,  sir,  in  all  the  cities, 
they  tell  me." 

"I  understand  so,"  I  said,  thinking. 

"So  he  found  out  about  us  easy  enough — 
where  we  were  going  in  Louisville  and  the  people 
we  knew — from  this  kind  of  folks — for  a  few 
dollars  or  for  friendship's  sake.  For  they're  all 
kind  of  in  together.  And  he'd  gone  down  or  sent 
down  and  found  about  us  at  home,  now,  and  all 
our  weak  spots  there." 

"So  he  wrote  these  letters  to  folks  to  scare  you 
into  paying.  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  it,  judge.  That's  exactly 
it,  sir.  Following  us  everywhere  the  way  he'd 
done  from  the  beginning — like  a  bloodhound. 
Starting  easy  first,  in  these  letters,  and  then 
telling  how  he'd  go  stronger  if  I  didn't  pay  up." 

"What'd  he  write  about?"  I  asked  her,  remem- 
bering again,  naturally,  that  one  anonymous  letter 
from  him  that  I  had  seen — the  hint  of  murder. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  129 

"There  were  plenty  of  things  to  say,  weren't 
there,  judge?"  she  asked  me  back,  evading  me 
again,  I  thought,  a  little;  coming  again  to  that 
territory  she  didn't  care  to  enter.  "If  he  said 
nothing  more  than  that  our  clothes  weren't  paid 
for.  And  then  too,  judge,  naturally,  there  was 
that  trial  of  my  boy — and  all  that." 

"Naturally,"  I  answered. 

I  could  see  from  the  way  she  touched  it — and 
drew  away — that  she  was  willing  to  avoid  that 
subject — that  shooting  or  murder,  or  whatever  it 
might  be,  as  far  as  possible.  And  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  forcing  its  discussion  on  her,  especially 
if  it  wasn't  necessary. 

"And  then  what'd  you  do?"  I  asked  her. 

"What  could  I  do,  sir?  I  did  something  I 
oughtn't  to  have  done,  I  expect.  I  came  away 
from  there  in  secret.  I  just  ran  away,  thinking 
to  avoid  him." 

"With  the  dresses  that  you  owed  him  for?" 

"Yes.  I  was  useless  if  I  didn't  have  them,  sir, 
and  I  couldn't  pay  out  all  the  money  I  had  to 
settle  for  them  and  keep  on.  And  I  intended 
always,  sir,  so  help  me  God,  to  pay  the  man  his 
bill  some  day.  And  besides,  sir,  if  he  never  got 
paid  again — anything — he'd  have  more  today 
than  the  dresses  were  worth — just  from  what  I've 
paid  him  already." 


130  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"And  then  you  stole  away  from  him?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  managed  to.  There  was  quite  a 
little  time  there  before  he  found  out  where  we'd 
gone  to.  But  he  found  me — he  smelt  me  out 
finally — like  the  bloodhound  he  is!  Like  he 
always  does !" 

"And  now  he's  after  you  with  his  anonymous 
letters,  starting  over  again  to  get  payment  on  that 
note — whatever  it  is  he  holds  against  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Have  you  got  it  here?"  I  asked  her. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  "That's  what  I  came  here 
to  talk  with  you  about,  mostly." 

"Let  me  look  at  it,"  I  told  her. 

And  she  took  it  out  and  went  over  it  with  me. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  signed  that  note  with 
that  interest  and  those  terms?" 

"Yes,  sir.  That's  just  what  I  did.  I  had  to, 
I  thought." 

"Well,  madam,"  I  said,  after  examining  it 
through,  "you  didn't  have  to.  And  what's  more, 
he  can't  hold  you  on  it.  And  what's  still  more, 
madam,"  I  said,  "you  can  tell  him  right  now  that 
this  document  is  illegal  and  if  he  don't  stop 
threatening  you  or  trying  further  to  collect  any- 
thing like  that  you'll  land  him  in  jail,  and  you 
can  tell  him,  ma'am,  I  said  so." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  131 

The  woman's  face  changed  entirely  while  I 
was  giving  her  this  information. 

"Can  I  tell  him  that,  judge,"  she  asked  me, 
"as  coming  from  you  ?" 

"You  certainly  can,  ma'am,"  I  said.  "And  put 
it  just  as  strong  as  you  like.  You've  been  pest- 
ered and  blackmailed  and  run  round  by  a  scoun- 
drel, ma'am,  on  a  perfectly  worthless  document, 
and  if  you  were  my  womenfolks  it  would  be  a 
mighty  short  period  before  I'd  land  him  in  jail — 
between  the  two  things,  that  note  and  the  black- 
mail." 

The  woman — this  Scarlet  Cockatoo,  so-called 
— was  up  on  her  feet  now. 

"Judge,  sir,"  she  said  in  her  highest,  brightest 
voice,  "you've  made  me  terribly  happy,  sir. 
You've  told  me  just  the  one  thing  in  the  world  I 
was  hoping  and  praying  to  hear.  You've  saved 
me — my  life  again,  sir.  I  never  can  thank  you 
enough  for  this,  and  for  everything  else.  But 
now,"  she  said,  "I've  got  to  go.  I'm  in  a  des- 
perate hurry — if  I'm  going  to  catch  that  train !" 

"What  train?" 

"The  train  up  to  St.  Louis,"  she  told  me. 

"But  your  girl — your  Virginia — is  she  all  right 
to  leave  now?"  I  asked  her. 

"She  is,  yes,"  she  said.     "Perfectly.     And  if 


132  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

she  wasn't  I'd  have  to  fix  it  somehow  so  I  could  go. 
I'd  have  to  go  somehow,"  she  said,  that  sharp, 
strident  tone  coming  to  her  voice;  that  sharp, 
hard,  alert  look  back,  permanent,  in  her  eyes 
again — the  look  of  a  desperate  and  overextended 
gambler. 

She  thanked  me  again  in  her  hard  nervous 
voice  and  hurried  out,  starting  to  get  ready  for 
her  St.  Louis  train. 


THE  next  day,  the  next  morning  after  that, 
before  she  arrived  back,  I  had  another 
visitor  at  my  office  whom  I  had  not  been 
anticipating.  The  girl,  this  so-called  White 
Shoulders,  had  not  appeared,  it  seemed,  at  lunch- 
eon that  noon  after  I  had  talked  with  her  mother ; 
but  that  evening  she  had  been  down  to  dinner, 
after  an  all-day  session  with  a  furious  headache, 
having  had  her  instructions  doubtless  to  appear 
in  public  as  early  as  humanly  possible.  The  next 
morning  after  that  she  was  able,  it  appeared,  to 
get  down  to  my  office. 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  done  this,  Virginia,"  I 
said  to  her. 

"Judge,"  she  answered,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
To  thank  you  first " 

"Don't,"  I  said,  "please,  ma'am.  I'll  take  that 
for  granted." 

"All  right,  sir.  But  I've  got  to  say  something, 
haven't  I — to  show " 

"If  you  won't,  ma'am,"  I  said.     "Please." 

"Well,  all  right,"  she  told  me.     "But  there  is 

another  thing,  for  my  own  selfish  interest,  that 
133 


134  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

I  want  to  talk  to  you  about,  while  she's  gone — 
while  I  can.  I  may  never  have  the  chance 
again." 

"What's  that?"  I  asked  her. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  myself,  judge," 
she  said,  the  blood  coming  up  into  her  pale  face; 
"if  you'll  let  me,  sir.  I  don't  want,  I  can't  bear 
— after  what  you've  done — to  have  you  think — 
as  you  must — think  I'm  either  all  a  bad  woman — 
or  a  fool." 

"My  dear  girl — my  dear  Virginia,"  I  tried  to 
say. 

"I  wanted — if  you'd  let  me — to  show  you  just 
what  a  fix  I'm  in.  So  you'll  understand.  So  you 
won't  think  too  hard  of  me,  sir,  when  it  all  comes 
out." 

"I  won't  think  hard  of  you,  child,"  I  told  her. 
"And  your  mother's  told  me  all  about  it  1" 

"Has  she?"  she  said.  "How  much?  Tell  me, 
please,  if  you  will,  judge." 

I  told  her  as  far  as  I  could,  she  listening,  quiet 
and  silent  and  white  again,  with  her  hands  still 
in  her  lap — about  the  dresses,  the  blackmailer, 
the  whole  woman's  speculation,  as  her  mother 
outlined  it;  and  finally  I  touched  in  passing  the 
point  I  didn't  understand — the  shooting  scrape 
— whatever  it  was,  the  boy,  Robert  Lee,  had  been 
in. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  135 

"Did  she  tell  you  all  about  that?"  the  girl  asked 
me. 

"No,"  I  answered  her.  "I  didn't  press  her  to 
naturally." 

"Did  she  tell  you  what  it  was  about — the 
shooting?" 

"No." 

The  girl  smiled  that  slow,  supposedly  indifferent 
smile  of  hers.  "No,  she  wouldn't  do  that — ever," 
she  told  me. 

"What  was  it  about?" 

"It  was  about  me." 

"About  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  that's  w<hy  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  you,  judge;  to  tell  you  just  how  things 
really  were,  so  you'll  know  when  the  story — when 
all  the  other  versions — do  come  out.  And  then, 
too,  I'm  going  to  have  the  unusual  luxury  of  talk- 
ing about  myself.  I  appreciate  it,  sir.  It's  a 
real  rare  treat  to  me,"  she  said,  smiling  that  cold 
slow  smile  again. 

She  was  dressed  fit  to  kill,  in  the  gayest  of 
spring  garments;  she  picked  up,  as  she  talked, 
the  gay-coloured,  expensive  parasol  she  had  set 
down  beside  my  desk  when  she  had  come  in. 

"You  thought,  I  expect,  sir,"  she  said,  "with 
all  the  rest,  when  you  first  saw  us,  that  we  were 
just  two  common  adventuresses." 


136  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"No,  ma'am,"  I  began.     "I  certainly " 

"A  sharp  adventuress  with  a  big  loud-dressed 
girl.  'Just  two  imposters,"  she  broke  in;  and 
went  on  again,  before  I  had  time  for  denying  it. 

"Well,  you  were  right,  if  you  did.  Even  our 
name,  or  my  name  anyhow,  is  false." 

"Your  name!"  I  said  after  her. 

"My   name — my   father's   name — is    Pitman." 

"Pitman!"  I  said,  remembering,  naturally,  the 
anonymous  letter  and  the  alleged  Pitman  murder 
case.  "So  your  brother " 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  shooting,  aren't  you  ?" 
she  asked,  looking  up. 

"Maybe  I  was,"  I  said — "among  other  things." 

"Yes.  He  was  called  that — and  is  still,"  she 
said.  "We  were  always — till  we  had  to  change 
— till  we  came  to  this  last  place  here.  And  that's 
what  they  call  the  trial  always — back  home  in 
Dell  County.  The  Pitman  trial — maybe  because 
our  folks  were  so  well  known  always.  And  that's 
what  they  call  me — always  there  still,  I  expect — 
that  Pitman  girl !" 

She  stopped,  motionless — her  still,  hopeless- 
looking  hands  in  her  white  gloves  folded  over  her 
gay  parasol,  which  lay  crosswise  in  her  lap.  I  let 
her  alone — to  talk  when  she  was  ready. 

"It  isn't  so  easy,  judge,  after  all,"  she  said 
then,  "to  tell  it.  Maybe  because  I'm  not  very 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  137 

much  used  to  talking  about  myself." 

"Take  your  time,  Virginia.  Take  your  time," 
I  told  her. 

"I'll  tell  it  to  you  from  the  beginning — if  you 
please,  sir,"  she  told  me. 

"Any  way,"  I  said. 

Then  she  waited  awhile. 

"You've  been  there,  judge,"  she  said  finally, 
"in  that  part  of  the  state.  You  know  how  they 
run  to  raising  race  horses  out  there — blooded 
stock." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  said.  "That's  quite  a  country 
for  horses,  up  that  way." 

"I  used  to  love  them  when  I  was  a  little  girl," 
she  said,  flushing  up  again.  "And  we  used  to 
have  our  own.  I  used  to  love  to  get  on  them  when 
I  had  the  chance  and  ride  and  ride  and  ride! 

"But  what  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  I  was 
like  them,  I've  thought  sometimes,  in  a  way.  I  was 
reared,  in  a  way,  like  they  were — useless,  only 
for  a  special  fancy  purpose." 

"For  what  do  you  mean?"  I  asked  her. 

"For  marriage.  I  was  for  sale — at  high 
prices.  Fancy  blooded  stock,  pedigreed." 

She  laughed — the  harsh,  resentful  laugh  of  a 
woman  of  fifty. 

"Virginia,  I  don't  like  to  hear  you — or  any 
other  young  girl — talk  thataway,"  I  told  her. 


138  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Why?"  she  said,  resting  her  great  big  eyes  on 
me  again.  "It's  true,  isn't  it — of  all  girls,  of 
all  women,  in  a  way — with  our  kind  of  folks? 
They've  got  to  find  somebody  who's  willing  to 
support  them — to  pay  out  money  for  having 
them — all  their  lives.  Only  they  don't  see  it — 
or  they  don't  say  it,  anyway.  They  just  act  it. 
Their  mothers  especially.  It's  like  all  those  big 
things — death  and  children  and  all  like  that — we 
don't  talk  about  them,  do  we?  We  just  go  on 
and  take  them  for  granted.  And  that's  the  way 
I've  thought  about  marriage.  Maybe  I'm  wrong. 
I'm  not  very  old  or  very  wise  yet.  I  haven't 
thought  very  deep,  I  expect." 

"You're  too  old  and  wise,"  I  thought  to  myself, 
looking  at  her.  "You've  thought  too  much — for 
your  age."  If  she  had  seemed  still  and  heavy 
before,  she  seemed  anything  but  that  now.  I  sat 
still  again  waiting  for  her  to  go  on — when  she 
wanted  to. 

"Did  women  always,  when  you  were  young,  talk 
of  nothing  else  but  dresses  and  pretty  looks  and 
getting  engaged  and  married — and  having  parties 
to  show  them  at,  like  fairs?  Is  that  all  the}' 
talked  about  always  ?"  she  asked  me  then. 

"I  expect  they  did  some,  ma'am.  A  good  lot 
of  women  are  apt  to." 

"I  never  remember  a  time  when  I  didn't  hear 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  139 

it  all  the  time — dresses,  engagements,  marriage. 
I  never  remember  when  I  didn't  hear  my  mother 
talking  about  a  brilliant  marriage." 

"I've  heard  that  kind  of  talk  myself  in  my  day," 
I  told  her. 

"That  was  what  I  drank  in  before  my  alphabet ; 
with  my  toys,  with  all  the  dresses  they  loaded  on 
me.  I've  often  wondered  if  it  was  the  same  with 
other  little  girls.  A  brilliant  marriage.  I  had  no 
idea  what  it  was,  but  I  was  going  to  have  one.  I 
was  trained  for  it — for  nothing  else  in  the  world 
— when  I  was  in  the  nursery.  Yes,  really — I 
mean  it,  judge,  sir!  With  my  first  ribbons — my 
first  fine  little  white  shoes !  That  was  all  I  was 
trained  for — all  I  was  good  for.  And  then — when 
I  was  almost  ready  to  be  what  I  was  reared  for — 
I  was  spoiled !" 

"Spoiled !"  I  said  after  her. 

"Absolutely.  I  was  spoiled.  A  waste,  for  the 
only  thing  on  God's  earth  I  was  made  for.  With 
all  those  dresses,  with  all  she'd  spent  on  me,  I  was 
spoiled!  I'm  absolutely  worthless.  I'm  a 
waste." 

"You/*  I  said,  "with  your  looks,  with  every- 
thing in  this  world  ahead  of  you,  complaining 
like  that.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  ma'am.  If 
it  was  me  now  at  my  age,  there  might  be  some  logic 
to  it." 


140  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

She  looked  at  me  with  those  great  still  eyes  of 
hers. 

"I'm  not  complaining,  judge.  I'm  just  stating 
facts.  I'm  useless — I'm  spoiled  for  the  only 
thing  I'm  fitted  for." 

"Useless  P' 

"I'm  raised  to  be  married!" 

"Say  you  are,"  I  told  her,  "if  you  want  to." 

"Nobody  could  marry  me.  Nobody  could,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice — "if  they  only  knew."  And  she 
stopped  still. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  I  asked  her 
finally. 

She  sat  there  for  a  little  bit  before  she  started 
answering.  Then  I  could  see  her  hands  tighten 
on  her  big  parasol  again  and  she  started  talking. 

"This  man" — talking  slow  and  looking  off — 
"the  first  one  she  started  to  marry  me  to,  was 
the  richest  man  in  our  county.  More  than 
twice  <as  old  as  I  was  then.  I  was  only  seventeen 
that  spring,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  now  with  a 
kind  of  appealing  look  under  her  big  wide  hat  brim. 
And  then  she  stopped  again. 

"How  old  are  you  now?"     I  asked  her. 

"I'm  nineteen,"  she  said,  and  went  on  telling 
me.  "He  had  the  most  wonderful  horses.  I  love 
horses.  I  always  did — anything  that  could  go — 
move  fast  and  be  free.  You  think — you  would 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  141 

now — that  I'm  stupid — that  I  just  love  to  sit 
around  in  fine  clothes  and  look  stupid  and  pose. 
I  don't.  I  hate  it !  I  hate  it !  I'm  naturally  big 
and  strong  and  active,  sir.  What  I  love  more 
than  anything  in  this  world,  sir,  is  motion,  free- 
dom, horses — something  going  somewhere!  I've 
had  so  much  of  the  other  thing,  I  expect,  all  my 
life — sitting  round,  looking  nice  and  pretty ! 

"Judge,"  she  went  on,  "he  gave  me  a  wonder- 
ful time — that  Colonel  Singleton — with  his  horses. 
So  far  as  I  knew  that  was  all — everything!  If 
there  was  anything — anything  else — any — any 
advances  on  his  part — I  expect  probably  I  would- 
n't have  known.  I  was  too  much — of  just  a  little 
girl.  All  I  thought  was  he  gave  me  a  wonderful 
time  with  his  saddle  horses — and  that  sometime, 
maybe,  so  mother  said,  he'd  probably  marry  me. 
There'd  be  a  brilliant  marriage.  I  never  thought 
of  it  or  anything  else,  except  in  a  general  sort  of 
far-off  way.  Or  how  she  was  spending  all  the 
money  she  could  rake  up  to  dress  me  with — to  make 
me  attractive,  so  he'd  want  to  have  me." 

She  broke  off  then  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something,  judge,  sir,"  she 
said  to  me,  "that  I  never  yet  understood.  I 
always  wanted  to  ask  somebody — like  you — I 
could  trust.  Is  there  nothing  that's  attractive  to 
a  man,  really  and  truly — is  a  woman  nothing  to  a 


142  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

man  but  dresses  and  looks — and — body  ?  Is  that 
all  she  can  possibly  be,  sir  ?  Tell  me  honestly.  I 
want  to  know." 

"No.     I  hope  not,"  I  said.     "Why?" 

"Oh — I  don't  know.  I  hate  you — all — some- 
times!" she  said.  She  stopped  while  I  waited — 
and  then  she  went  on  finally  with  her  story. 

"This  man,  it  seems,  this  Colonel  Singleton — I 
didn't  know  it — how  could  I?  This  man  was  ter- 
rible in  every  way.  Only  he  was  rich — for  our 
country!  Somebody  who  would  have  heaps  of 
money — if  you  married  him.  But  it  seems  every- 
body was  wondering — sneering,  laughing — about 
my  mother's  ever  allowing  me  to  go  round  with  him 

— to  say  nothing  of !     She  was  desperate,  I 

— the  way  we  are  now — for  something — for  a 
brilliant  marriage,  I  believe.  She  thought  I  was 
so  wonderful.  You  know  what  I  mean — she 
thought  so ;  not  I !  She  thought  that  when  he  saw 
me,  dressed  the  way  she  dressed  me,  he'd  have  to 
have  me — to  marry  me !" 

Her  paleness  was  gone  now ;  her  face  was  flushed. 
Her  great  eyes  stared  into  mine. 

"Judge,"  she  said,  "please.  Don't  misunder- 
stand me — please.  There  was  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing.  He  was  perfectly  nice  to  me — every 
way — whatever  else  he  had  been  to  any  other 
woman.  Only  people  laughed  and  whispered  and 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  143 

then  finally  sneered  out  loud  at  her  trusting  me 
with  that  man  that  way.  And  finally — they  said 
— the  man,  when  he  had  been  drinking,  it  seemed, 
laughed  at  us — at  mother — what  a  fool  she  was, 
the  way  she  was  throwing  me  at  him.  What  he 
could  do,  or  onght,  or  might  do — with  me !  Some 
slandering  talk,  anyway.  And  then  Robert 

Lee "  she  said,  and  stopped,  clutching  tighter 

at  her  parasol  and  swallowing. 

"Robert  Lee — my  brother,  judge — heard  of  it. 
He  was  nothing  but  a  child,  j  udge — a  boy,  truly ! 
He  was  just  a  year  older  than  I  was.  But  you 
know  how  it  is  with  Southerners — with  Fairborns, 
and  folks  like  that!  All  that  old-time  family 
pride!  He  couldn't  stand  it,  sir,  when  he  heard 
it.  So  one  day,  judge,  sir,  he  went  and  got  a 
pistol,  and  he  went  over  to  this  Colonel  Singleton's, 
and  he  asked  him  what  he'd  meant  by  all  this  talk. 
And  he  just  laughed  and  told  him  to  mind  his 
business  and  go  back  to  the  nursery  and  roll  his 
hoops.  And  they  got  talking  and  arguing,  judge, 
and  Robert  Lee  just  pulled  out  that  revolver 
and  shot  him !" 

"Shot  him!"  I  said,  looking  back  into  her 
staring  eyes. 

"Dead.  Yes,  sir.  Dead!"  she  said,  and 
stopped  again. 

"Do  you  see  how  it  was,  judge,  now?"  she  asked 


144  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

me.  "How  I  was  spoiled — all  of  us — but  I  espe- 
cially. Especially  me !" 

"Go  ahead,  ma'am,"  I  said,  waiting,  staring — 
"when  you  feel  you  want  to." 

"They  tried  him,  of  course;  they  tried  Robert 
Lee  for  murder.  He  was  a  right  prominent  man, 
judge,  this  Colonel  Singleton.  Very  rich  for  our 
country — and  with  heaps  and  heaps  of  powerful 
friends  and  relations.  They  wanted  revenge,  sir. 
They  wanted  to  hurt  us — every  possible  way. 
They  wanted  to  damage  us  all  they  could.  They 
had  all  the  money  to  hire  the  best  lawyers — the 
most  terrible  that  money  could  buy !  While  ours, 
naturally,  was  only  what  we  could  afford  to  pay 
for." 

"I  know,"  I  said,  trying  to  steady  her  a  little. 

"So  they  tried  him — Robert  Lee — for  murder; 
and  at  the  same  time — I  don't  understand  law, 
judge;  I  never  did  quite  understand  yet — but  they 
tried  me,  it  seemed  like,  all  the  time — more  even 
than  they  tried  Robert  Lee.  We  claimed — our 
lawyer — you  see,  judge,  that  he  had  slandered 
me — this  man;  and  so  brother  was  justified — in 
a  way,  you  know — and  being  so  young,  espe- 
cially!" 

"I  know." 

"But  the  other  people — that  head  lawyer,  that 
big  expensive  man "  she  said — and  suddenly 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  145 

put  her  gloved  hands  to  her  ears.  "I  can  hear 
him  now — see  him — with  that  terrible  hard,  harsh, 
hateful  voice — his  thin  face  and  eyes  that  hated 
you — and  red  hair  and  freckles — and  that  great 
high,  snarling,  hateful  voice.  I  can  hear  him 
any  time  ever  since,  talking,  questioning,  asking 
me  those  dreadful  questions — about  things  I  never 
even  heard  of,  judge!  You  believe  me,  judge!" 
she  cried  out.  "I  never  heard  of  such  things — 
in  my  life!" 

I  tried  to  speak  to  her,  but  my  mouth,  I  expect, 
was  too  dry — from  sitting  staring,  listening  to 
the  girl's  high,  hysterical  voice. 

"For  he  didn't  try — that  lawyer — to  prove 
that  this  man — this  Colonel  Singleton — hadn't 
said  what  it  was  that  made  brother  shoot  him — 
that  slander !  He  even  made  it  worse  than  he  ever 
said!  He  just  tried. — to  claim — it  wasn't  slander 
— about  me!  That  what  he  said  about  me — 
couldn't  be  slander,  sir!" 

I  sat  and  stared  at  her.  It  couldn't  be  the 
same  girl  I  had  been  seeing  all  those  weeks — that 
silent,  inert,  what  we  thought  posing,  White 
Shoulders.  She  couldn't  be  this  woman  with 
dilated  eyes  and  set  face  that  was  looking  at  me, 
half  beside  herself  with  that  memory. 

"It  wasn't  true,  judge.  It  wasn't.  You  believe 
that,  don't  you?  Or  I  couldn't  be  saying  this 


146  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

to  you.  I  couldn't!  Why,  judge — I  didn't — 
even  know  of  such  things.  They  only  did  it — 
for  revenge — for  hate  of  us.  The  jury  said  so, 
judge.  They  sentenced  Robert  Lee — for  a  short 
term — they  had  to ;  but  they  acquitted  me.  They 
went  out  of  their  way  to.  For  it  was  me — it  was 
me  that  was  being  tried  then — even  more  than  he 
was.  Was  being  hinted  at  and  jeered  and  flouted 
— and  held  up — and  asked  these  hideous  questions 
— by  that  hideous,  thin-faced,  snarling  lawyer, 
with  those  little  greenish  eyes,  like  a  nasty  cat 
— that  hateful  voice — asking  me — talking  about 
me — using  names!  Oh,  judge,  how  can;  they! 
How  could  they  let  people  say  such  things  in 
court — to  other  folks — about  other  people — 
those  lawyers — when  courts  are  supposed  to  be  for 
justice — and  truth!" 

"You  poor  child,"  I  said,  remembering  other 
women  in  other  witness  stands.  "But  they 
acquitted  you,  you  say,"  I  told  her,  saying  what 
I  could  think  of. 

"They  acquitted  me,  yes;  they  did  really — in 
what  the  jury  went  out  of  the  way  to  say  about 
me.  But  what  was  the  use?" 

"The  use?"  I  said  after  her. 

"They  could  acquit  and  acquit  and  acquit.  It 
would  be  all  just  the  same.  I  was  spoiled  just 
the  same  for  the  only  thing  I  was  made  for — 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  147 

for  marriage.  Smeared — all  over  my  soul  and 
body !" 

Her  hands  fell  back  limp  and  hopeless  into  her 
lap  again.  "Oh,  what's  the  use?"  she  said  in  a 
voice  not  of  a  girl  but  of  a  hopeless  woman  of 
fifty.  "What's  the  use?  I  said  I'd  never  do  like 
that  again!" 

She  stopped  a  minute  then,  controlled  herself 
and  went  on  finally  in  a  quieter  voice  again. 

"All  it  was,  judge,  I  wanted  to  show  you,"  she 
said,  "was  I  was  spoiled.  I  was  done  for  before 
I  started — for  the  only  thing  I  was  fitted  for— - 
trained  for — expected  to  do.  They  came  from  all 
over  Dell  County  for  that  trial — like  they  do — 
for  a  holiday.  I  was  stripped  bare,  smeared,  drag- 
ged before  them.  I  was  a  name  that  was  common 
— that  they  whispered  and  laughed  at  on  the  street 
corners!  You  know  men  do — some  men — and 
women  too !  Even  the  commonest  girl  of  the 
meanest  white  trash  in  the  country  was  more — 
more  salable  for  marriage  than  I  was.  I  was 
spoiled — ruined — for  any  man  to  marry." 

She  stopped  now  for  a  minute  and  gave  a  short 
quick  kind  of  dreadful  laugh. 

"You  know  how  it  is  with  fine  horses,  judge," 
she  said.  "My  mind  always  goes  back  to  that, 
I  expect.  I  always  loved  horses  so.  I  remember 
when  we  had  one  when  I  was  little — a  young  colt 


148  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

we  were  raising  to  be  a  great  race  horse,  we 
thought.  It  fell — not  by  its  own  fault  either 
— by  a  trifling  foolish  groom  we  had — and  broke 
its  leg.  You  know  what  they  do  with  horses — 
with  a  colt  like  that — when  it's  no  use  any  more !" 

"Don't!"  I  told  her. 

"I  shouldn't,  judge,"  she  said.  "That's 
excusing  myself — for  what  I  just  started  to  do, 
I'm  going  to  get  the  better  of  that — only  some- 
times it  seems  so  hopeless.  And  that  trial,  of 
course  that  wasn't  all — that  was  only  the  begin- 
ning." 

"You  don't  have  to  go  on,"  I  said,  "if  you  don't 
feel  like  it.  I  can  see — a  little — from  this  on. 
From  what  your  mother  said." 

"No,  judge,"  she  said,  "that's  what  I'm  here 
for — to  tell  you.  Because — well,  because  I  think 
you  ought  to  know — after  everything.  It's  only 
right  you  should,  sir.  Because  I  want  you  to, 
sir — and  it*s  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  tell  it  to  you, 
to  have  somebody  understand  I'm  not  quite  either 
a  knave  or  a  fool,  sir.  Especially  after  all  these 
months  of  sitting  silent,  masquerading. 

"You  see  how  it  was,  sir,"  she  went  on.  "I  was 
spoiled — hopelessly  spoked.  Instead;  of  being 
worth  something  to  my  mother — to  the  family, 
after  all  its  going  down,  all  the  terrible  expense  of 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  149 

that  trial — I  was  just  a  detriment  and  expense.  I 
was  worse  than  that  really,  you  can  see,  judge, 
probably,  if  you  think.  I  was  worse  because  my 
mother — is  what  she  is.  Not  so  bad  really,  judge. 
She  means  well,  but  she  never  can  understand 
about  me,  truly.  She'd  planned,  I  expect,  so 
much,  all  those  years  that  she  had  nothing — and 
expected  so  much  for  me.  And  then  too,  you 
understand,  sir,"  she  told  me,  a  faint  smile  coming 
on  her  lips  again.  "You  must  remember  she's  a 
Fairborn,  sir,  and  Fairborns  never  give  up — fight 
to  the  last  ditch,  sir." 

"We  have  a  great  plenty  of  Fairborns  in  the 
South,"  I  said.  "That's  one  thing  they  can't  say 
— that  we  lack  courage." 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered.  "But  even  mother 
could  see  I  couldn't  marry — not  in  Dell  County 
— now.  And  so " 

"She  got  out  and  came  away,"  I  broke  in,  mean- 
ing to  save  her  what  I  could.  "Your  mother  told 
me  about  that." 

"Yes.  So  she  decided  to  take  me  somewhere 
else — where  it  wasn't  known — where  what  she  calls 
my — my  good  looks — •• — " 

"Your  great  and  remarkable  beauty,  ma'am," 
I  told  her. 

"Whatever  it  is!"  she  said.  "But  then, 
naturally,  we  had  to  have  dresses." 


150  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"And  she  got  involved  and  tied  up  with  this 
dressmaker,"  I  said,  "the  way  she  told  me." 

"Yes.  And  then  we  went  on  to  Louisville,"  she 
said,  and  stopped ;  and  I  stopped  with  her. 

"I  wonder  if  you  can  understand — if  anybody 
can  understand,"  she  asked  me  finally,  "how  I 
felt  then.  I  had  just  been  through  that  thing — • 
that  trial.  I  was  sore,  bruised  all  over.  There 
was  only  one  thing  in  the  world  I  wanted  to  do  ;  to 

run  and  hide  and  hide  and  hide!  Instead '* 

she  said,  and  stopped  again. 

"She  brought  you  forward,"  I  prompted  her. 

"Instead,  judge,  I  was  stood  up — for  sale. 
Before  every  eye  she  could  get  on  me.  I  could 
hear  her  talking,  chattering — about  me,  my  hair, 
my  clothes,  my  shoulders  !  I  don't  want  to  blame 
my  mother,  judge.  She  is  a  good  woman — she 
means  well.  She  thinks  what  she  does  is  right,  I 
expect.  Only  she  was  reared  that  way — thinking 
of  nothing  but  clothes  and  looks  and  marriage — 
that's  all — like  a  lot  of  others!  And  she  was 
nervous  and  high-strung  and  all  excited  by  what 
happened.  And  she's  not  herself,  truly — not  the 
way  you  saw  her,  judge — chattering  so.  She's 
not  the  way  she  used  to  be.  But  she  kept  on, 
though,  just  the  same,  talking,  chattering,  just 
the  same  about  me.  When  all  I  wanted  all 
the  time  was  to  be  buried — covered  up  somewhere ! 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  151 

And  all  the  time,  too,  I  knew  it  was  so  perfectly 
useless — what  she  was  trying  to  do.  That  sooner 
or  later  it  would  catch  up  with  her — the  real 
truth — what  I  was.  It  was  all  so  perfectly  silly 
and  useless — and  so  dishonest." 

"Dishonest?" 

"If  anybody  had  really  married  me — and  fourd 
out  afterward — the  way  she  meant  to  do !" 

I  sat  and  watched  her  till  she  went  on  again. 

"But  what  could  I  do — with  her,  and  Robert  Lee 
— everybody  fixed  like  they  were — everything  gone 
smash  with  us  ?  And  she  always  with  the  same  old 
idea  in  her  head  that  I  could  help  get  us  all  out — 
the  family — by  marrying — making  that  old  bril- 
liant marriage  she  always  talked  and  dreamed 
about.  Could  I  help  going  on — when  she  begged 
so — and  talked  to  me — telling  me  after  all  that  it 
had  happened,  in  a  way,  on  account  of  me — that 
Robert  Lee  had  acted  just  to  protect  me  and  the 
Fairborn  honour? 

"And  then,  too,  after  all,  what  difference  did  it 
make?  I  was  gone — nothing  anyway  now!" 

She  stopped,  staring  at  the  wall  across  from  her. 

"Did  you  ever  have  that  dream — that  dream 
they  say  almost  everybody  has  sometime — of  run- 
ning— without  your  clothes  on — through  some 
public  place?  Some  strange  dreadful  public  place 


152  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

—  trying,  trying  to  hide  —  and  you  can't  !  And  all 
the  people  whispering  and  pointing  their  fingers 
at  you?" 

"I  have,  yes,"  I  said.  "I  expect  everybody 
has  —  sometime  in  their  lives." 

"Then  you  know  how  I  felt,  in  a  way  —  day  after 
day,  waiting  —  for  that  thing  —  that  trial  over 
again  —  that  shame  —  to  come  again.  If  it  had 
been  any  use,  judge.  If  it  hadn't  been  so  perfectly 
silly  from  the  first.  If  it  hadn't  been  so  sure  to 
come  out. 

"And  then  it  came  —  right  away  —  it  came  out  in 
Louisville  —  from  that  dressmaker,  that  disgusting 
Gluber.  But  you  can't  blame  him,  either,  judge 
can  you?" 

"Why  not?"  I  asked,  keeping  my  eye  always 
on  her  —  her  serious,  tragic  face,  her  expensive 
clothes,  her  gay  parasol  in  her  lap  —  not  yet  paid 
for  —  all  still  technically  the  property  of  A.  Gluber, 
Costumer. 

"According  to  his  lights,"  she  said.  "For  I 
don't  doubt,  judge,  that  mother  gave  him  some 
mighty  queer  ideas  about  our  property  —  how  much 


I  nodded,  and  she  went  on,  seeing  that  I  under- 
stood. 

"And  you  can't  blame  her  for  that,  either. 
That's  the  strange  thing  to  me,  how  everything's 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  153 

happened — always  so  natural — just  according  to 
what  kind  of  folks  we  all  were  and  this  man,  this 
Gluber,  was.  That  was  his  regular  business — do- 
ing what  he  did;  that  was  what  he  had  always 
done — scaring  women." 

"Scaring  women?" 

"Yes.  Selling  clothes  to  women  whose  husbands 
wouldn't  give  them  what  they  wanted;  to  stage 
women;  and  other  women,  I  expect,  judge,  not  so 
good.  Selling  them  more  then  they  ought  to  have 
and  then  scaring  them  every  way — by  threatening, 
by  telegraphing,  by  writing  anonymous  letters 
about  anything  he  could — to  people  they  just 
couldn't  have  know.  It's  strange,"  she  said, 
"how  things  happen — how  they  go  against  you 
out  of  nothing,"  she  said;  and  stopped,  thinking. 

"And  so  this  dressmaker,"  I  said  finally,  "drove 
you  out  of  Louisville." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  waking  up,  "by  those  let- 
ters. And  so  we  changed  our  name  back  to 
mother's  and  came  here  to  this  smaller  town, 
thinking  Gluber  wouldn't  know — wouldn't  find  us 
maybe,  Though  I  knew — I  was  always  sure 
myself — he  would,"  she  said,  and  stopped  again — 
and  went  on. 

"We  had  just  this  little  bit  of  money  left — these 
few  hundreds  of  dollars — I  don't  know  exactly 
how  much !  And  she  had  sold  everything  in  Dell 


154  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

County  now — she  had  to.  We'd  burned  our 
bridges  all  behind  us,  judge.  She'd  just  bet  all  she 
had — all  we  any  of  us  had — on  that  same  old 
thing,  that  brilliant  marriage  for  me  that  she'd 
never  had  for  herself. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "judge,  that's  all !  I  expect 
you  know  the  rest — how  we  came  here — and  about 
Mr.  Gordon.  How  he — fancied  me — and  was 
going — to  take  me!  And  that  was  worse,  judge." 

"Worse?" 

"It  was  cheating — about  me.  Think  how  it 
would  have  been  when  he  found  out — about  me,  as 
he  would  have  to,  some  day.  Think  how  you'd  feel 
— in  my  place.  Not  just  being  sold,  but  cheating 
— when  you  sold  yourself.  But  I  didn't  care  by 
that  time.  I  was  too  desperate,  I  expect — too 
tired  out,  too  kind  of  numb  all  over,  sir,  to  care 
about  anything  then.  And  mother  couldn't  see, 
anyway — and  she  was  too  desperate  too,  I 
expect." 

I  thought  of  them  while  she  was  speaking — the 
two  strange,  strange-acting  women — this  White 
Shoulders  and  the  Scarlet  Cockatoo — how  they 
had  set  us  wondering  and  the  women  whispering  in 
the  corners. 

"And  then  finally,"  she  was  going  on,  "that 
day  came  along — that  day  of  victory.  For  me !" 
she  said,  stopping  in  a  short  hard  laugh  again. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  155 

"And  then  you  know  how  that  Gluber  came  at  the 
end — and  I  saw  him  there  1" 

"Didn't  she  prepare  you?"  I  asked  her. 
"Your  mother?  Didn't  she  give  you  any  warn- 
ing?" 

"No,  sir.  She  didn't  expect  him  to  stay ;  he  told 
her  he  wouldn't.  She  thought  she  had  it  all 
arranged.  And  then  he  stayed  to  make  sure." 

"Sure?" 

"About  Captain  Gordon — about  my  engage- 
ment— if  it  was  the  way  she  said.  She'd  told  him — 
promised  him  so  much  in  the  past,  I  expect,  he 
thought  he'd  stay  to  see !" 

"To  see?" 

"About  announcing  my  engagement." 

"Then  it  was  true?" 

"What?" 

"That  you  were  going  to  announce  it  that 
day?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said.  "But  not  now — that's  all 
done  of  course.  If  she  had  only  told  me,  warned 
me,"  she  went  on,  "I  could  have  stood  it,  I  believe. 
But  all  at  once,  to  look  down  into  that  face — to  see 
it  all  rising  up  again — that  man — that  time  in 
Louisville — that  trial — and  that  lawyer  with  the 
red  hair  and  those  little  green  eyes  and  that 
voice,  asking  me  those  terrible  questions,  judge. 
I  heard  it  all — I  went  through  it  all  over  again 


156  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

in  those  thirty  seconds  before  I  fainted  then,  sir. 
I  couldn't  stand  it,  that's  all." 

She  stopped  a  minute. 

"And  then  you  know — mother  told  you — the 
letters  started  again,  like  they  did  at  Louisville. 
And  then  I  did  that  foolish  thing — that  caused 
you  so  much  trouble  and  danger — that  I'm  here 
to  apologize  for  to  you,  sir." 

"Apologize?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  apologize  a  thousand  times.  For  I 
oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  sir,  I  know.  To  have 
made  you  all  that  trouble — and  to  do  that  myself ! 
To  lay  down  and  quit,  sir.  I'm  utterly  ashamed 
of  what  I  did.  To  quit  like  that — especially, 
sir,  when  you're  a  Fairborn,"  she  said,  with  a 
slow  kind  of  smile,  half  mocking  and  half  serious, 
coming  on  her  face  again. 

"You  certainly,"  I  told  her,  "don't  have  to 
apologize  to  me,  Virginia." 

She  sat  looking  off  awhile  before  answering  me. 

"There  is  one  thing  though,  judge,"  she  said, 
"that  I  reckon  I  might  say  for  myself.  Not  to 
excuse  myself — nothing  could  do  that.  But  I  do 
want  to  say  to  you,  sir,  that  I  didn't  do  that  that 
night — I  didn't  set  out  to  do  it  purposely.  In  a 
way  it  just  happened  by  impulse. 

"It's  nights,  judge,"  she  went  on  explaining 
after  a  little  while  more,  "that's  the  worst ;  that  I 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  157 

go  over  that  trial  again,  sir.  Especially  that  law- 
yer talking  about  me.  I  can  see  him  so,  in  the 
dark — hear  his  voice — those  questions — those 
names  he  called  me.  I  expect  he  made  scars  all 
over  me !  Not  my  body ;  deeper  down.  And  when 
I  get  through  hearing  him,  judge,  in  the  dark, 
quite  often  I  get  up  and  light  the  gas — to  stop  it, 
sir." 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  studying  her. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  went  on,  "all  it  was,  sir,  was 
that  that  night,  after  mother  went,  I  got  to 
hearing  him  especially  bad.  He  was  talking  again 
especially  bad  about  me;  and  I  got  to  crying — 
and  all  worn  out.  I  cried  for  an  hour  or  so,  and 
then  I  got  up  finally  to  light  the  gas." 

"Yes,"  I  prompted  her  after  awhile. 

"And  when  I  turned  it  on  the  match,  sir,  went 
out — through  carelessness — before  I  could  light 
it.  And  then  I  thought — the  thought  came  to 
me,  what  if  I  didn't?  What  if  I  didn't  light  it?" 
she  said,  after  sitting  thinking  a  minute.  "And 
then — I  didn't — that's  all!  I  didn't  light  it.  I 
just  hurried  back  and  stumbled  over  a  chair  and 
crawled  into  bed  and  pulled  the  sheets  over  my 
head  like  I  did  when  I  was  a  little  girl — and 
waited  P' 

"And  left  the  window  open!"  I  said,  under- 
standing that  part  at  last. 


158  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Wasn't  it  silly,  judge?"  she  answered.  "I 
didn't  think  of  that  or  anything,  except  how  mis- 
erable I  was.  How  I  couldn't  keep  on  and  go 
through  that  again — be  stripped  bare  again — be- 
fore everybody — for  nothing!" 

"You  poor  child,"  I  said  to  her.  For  that's  all 
she  was,  I  could  see  now  naturally — a  poor  des- 
perate driven  child  in  the  body  of  a  woman. 

"I  don't  mean,"  she  answered  me  after  a  minute 
or  so  more,  "to  excuse  myself.  I  can't.  But  I 
really  didn't  set  out  to  do  it.  I  think  you  ought 
to  know  that.  And  I  certainly  won't  do  it  over 
again.  I  want  you  to  know  that  too.  For  I 
want  your  good  opinion,  sir — so  far  as  I  can  have 
it.  For  I  value  it  a  great  heap,  sir — especially 
after  what  you've  done  for  me.  And  I  wanted  to 
acquaint  you,  before  it  all  comes  out  some  way, 
sir,  with  what  little  excuse  I  had  for  doing  what 
I  did — and  just  the  fix  I  found  myself  in.  I 
wanted  to  show  you  just  what  I  said  at  first  was 
true.  I'm  spoiled — just  like  I  told  you  I  was  at 
first — for  living,  for  the  only  thing  I  was  ever 
made  fit  for — for  marrying — for  looks.  I  can't 
marry,  it's  foolish  to  think  so.  Nobody  could 
now — but  just  my  mother! 

"But  on  the  other  hand,  judge,"  she  said,  "I've 
found  out  another  thing.  I  can't  hope  to  live, 
really,  ever — and  be  happy  like  other  women  are. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  159 

I  know  that.  But  I  can't  honourably  die,  either. 
I  haven't  got  the  right  to  die — my  life  don't 
belong  to  me — not  with  mother  and  Robert  Lee 
fixed  the  way  they  are — with  the  possibility  that 
somehow  some  strange  miracle  might  happen — 
about  me,  for  them !" 

"Where  is  he  now?"  I  asked  her. 

"Who?" 

"Robert  Lee — your  brother?" 

"He's  in  prison,  sir.  Penitentiary — for  just 
a  short  term.  He'll  be  out,  sir,  very  soon  now 
— and  he'll  have  to  be  helped  all  we  can — to 
start  all  over  again.  He  never  was  a  very  strong- 
acting  boy.  Mother  spoiled  him !" 

"Let  me  ask  you,  Virginia,"  I  said,  "what  do 
you  expect  you  can  do  now?" 

"I'm  going  on,  I  expect,"  she  said,  with  the 
stolid  hopeless  look  settling  back  again  on  her 
face,  "till  this  thing  breaks  out  again  some  way. 
But  in  the  meanwhile  I  won't  think  until  it 
happens.  I've  had  enough  of  thinking — I  can't 
any  more,  judge.  I'm  just  going  on  till  it 
comes." 

"Your  mother,"  I  made  the  suggestion,  "has 
gone  up  to  St.  Louis." 

"Yes,  sir.  She  thinks  she  can  put  him  off — 
that  Gluber — some  way." 

"I  figured  that  would  be  it,"  I  said. 


160  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Yes,  sir.  But  even  if  she  does,  what  can  we 
do?" 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something  more,  Virginia, 
if  you  will  permit  me,"  I  said,  making  a  guess  at 
what  she  was  thinking.  "If  you  will  permit  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather,  Virginia. 
Let  me  ask  you  a  kind  of  delicate  question." 

"Go  ahead,  sir,"  she  said,  setting  her  big  eyes 
on  me. 

"Your  money,"  I  said — "how  is  that  going  to 
hold  out?" 

"It's   getting  pretty  low,   sir),"  she  told   me. 

"Now  I've  heard  what  you  told  me,  Virginia,"  I 
began  to  tell  her,  "with  a  lot  of  interest  and 
sympathy,  ma'am,  and  while  I  don't  know  now  just 
what  I  can  do,  I'm  going  to  help  you — all  I  can." 

"You've  helped  me,  sir,"  she  told  me.  "More'n 
you  should  already." 

"No,"  I  said.  "Far  from  it,"  I  told  her. 
"And  as  I  was  going  to  say  to  you,  I  don't  see 
just  what  other  way  I  could  be  of  any  great  ser- 
vice to  you, — in  any  big  way,  like  I'd  like  to  be. 
But  there's  one  way  I  can  see.  If  I  can  be  of  any 

pecuniary  assistance  to  you,  at  any  time, " 

I  said. 

"Judge,  I'm  sorry.  I'm  sorry  that  I  gave  you 

the  impression,  sir "  she  said,  starting  to 

get  up. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  161 

<<No,  ma'am.  No  impression  about  it.  I 
simply  thought — if  I  could  help !" 

She  stood  there  looking  at  me  under  her  big 
straw  hat  brim. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,  judge,"  she  said.  "I 
certainly  am.  But  there  won't  be  anything  you 
can  do.  It'll  be  all  out  and  all  over  in  just  a 
little  while  now.  And  then  we'll  be  through!" 

"Maybe,  then,"  I  told  her,  "you  might  need 
help  of  some  kind  more  than  ever." 

And  then  she  thanked  me  and  refused  again 
"Nobody  can  help  us,  judge,"  she  said.  "Not 
really,  sir.  Nothing.  Nothing  but  a  miracle." 

"Will  you  do  this,  anyhow?"  I  asked  her. 
"Will  you  let  me  know,  from  time  to  time,  how 
things  are  going  with  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will,"  she  said  finally.  "I'll  do  that 
— and  mighty  gladly  too.  But  that  wasn't  what 
I  came  here  for,  sir — not  to  beg  or  borrow  any 
help  from  you,  sir.  I  came  here — to  thank — to 
thank  you — and  to  apologize.  And  to  show  you 
just  the  fix  I  was  in.  That  I  wasn't  quite  so  bad 
maybe,  as  I  looked  to  you — and  might  look  later, 
when  this  thing  will  all  be  coming  out.  That  I 
wasn't — as  bad — as  everybody  will  try  to  say. 

That  neither  of  us,  sir,  are  really  so  bad " 

she  said,  and  stopped — for  the  simple  reason  she 
couldn't  go  on. 


162  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Virginia,  my  child,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  tell 
you  something.  I've  lived  a  long  while,  my  girl, 
and  I've  seen  a  good  many  folks.  And  I  haven't 
sat  watching  men  and  women  all  my  life  without 
knowing  a  good  woman  when  I  see  one.  I  may 
look  that  way.  But  I'm  no  such  fool  as  that.  I 
like  you.  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I'm  going  to  help 
you  somehow.  And  I'm  free  to  say  so." 

And  after  that — after  she  broke  down  a  little 
bit,  the  way  women  do — she  went  away  again, 
with  her  face  still  and  impassive  and  growing 
pale  again.  I  saw  her  from  my  window  going 
on  down  the  street  with  her  fine  clothes  and  hat 
and  big  bright-figured  parasol — that  weren't  paid 
for.  And  all  the  men  turning  and  looking  at  her 
as  she  walked  along,  not  looking  at  them  or  any- 
thing else  in  particular;  thinking,  I  expect,  in 
spite  of  herself,  of  what  was  coming  next — of  the 
snare  she  was  in  and  couldn't  get  out  of. 

Then  as  I  stood  there  in  my  window  looking  I 
heard  down  the  street  back  of  her  a  familiar  noise 
— the  barking  of  that  Child  of  Hell,  that  great 
racing  machine  of  Cole  Hawkins.  It  came  up  and 
stopped  by  the  curb  beside  where  the  girl  was 
walking  on  alone — stopped  the  way  Cole  Hawkins 
managed  it — within  a  fraction  of  an  inch  of  where 
he  wanted  it  to  be. 

He  spoke  to  her,  and  after  a  minute  more  she 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  163 

got  in  and  they  drove  off — sweeping  round,  turn- 
ing back  under  my  window  again.  She  was  smiling 
at  him,  I  could  see — a  real  genuine  smile,  the 
smile  of  a  young  girl. 

The  men  on  the  sidewalk  stopped  and  looked 
after  them. 


XII 

THE    day   following   that   the   mother   was 
back  from  her  trip — her  trip  on  business 
to   her  old  home   town,   as  she   told   our 
curious  friends  at  the  boarding  house. 

"You  didn't  mention  St.  Louis  to  any  one,  did 
you,  judge?"  she  said  to  me  that  afternoon  when 
she  was  in  my  office  again. 

"Madam,"  I  said,  "you  can  trust  me,  I  expect, 
that  much — in  business  matters,  anyhow." 

"I  knew  that,  judge.  I  assumed  that,  sir,"  she 
told  me.  "But  if  you  had  it  would  have  been 
utterly  my  fault,  for  I  neglected  to  say  one  word 
to  you  about  it." 

"How  did  you  come  out,  ma'am,"  I  asked  her, 
"on  your  mission?" 

"Judge,"  she  said,  her  face  lighting  up  like  I 
hadn't  seen  it  for  days,  not  since  before  the  day  of 
victory,  anyhow,  "you  did  me  another  very  great 
favour,  sir,  in  that  opinion  you  gave  me.  The 
greatest  favour,  I  believe,  I  ever  had  done  to  me. 
I  went  right  to  him— to  Gluber — and  told  him  just 
what  you  said  I  ought  to  do  to  him  over  that 

contract." 

164 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  165 

I  watched  her.  Her  voice  was  more  real  and 
genuine — less  forced ;  her  eyes  were  brighter — even 
the  colour  on  her  hat  and  the  rouge  on  her  cheeks 
looked  better. 

"What  did  he  do?"  I  asked  her.  "Cancel  the 
whole  thing?" 

"Well,  no,  sir,"  she  said.  "Not  exactly  that! 
But  something  just  as  good.  I  made  a  kind  of 
compromise." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  inquisitive,  ma'am,"  I  said, 
"but  what  is  something  just  as  good — if  you  don't 
mind  about  telling  me?  Did  he  cut  it  down — the 
amount  of  your  debt?" 

"Well,  no,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  little  hitch. 
But  he  did  something  just  as  good — for  me.  He's 
arrangtd  to  wait  for  me — till  I  get  the  money 
handy." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  I  held  on,  "I  don't  want  to  be 
officious,  but  wouldn't  it  have  been  better — wouldn't 
you  have  made  better  terms  if  you'd  been  repre- 
sented by  a  lawyer  in  that  ?" 

"Let  me  ask  you  something  back,  on  that  same 
line,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  those  sharp  black 
eyes  of  hers,  "before  I  answer  that.  If  you'd 
been  in  that  case — as  a  lawyer — wouldn't  you  have 
insisted  on  his  getting  out,  giving  up  everything  on 
that  claim?" 

"I  might — very  likely." 


166  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"That's  just  it.  That's  just  what  I  wouldn't 
take  the  risk  of — of  getting  him  so  he  might  go 
and  write  those  letters  again — which  you  could 
never  prove  he  did.  Spoil  everything  for  us!" 

"If  you  went  at  him  right,"  I  started  to  say, 
thinking  how  women  always  handled  a  thing  like 
that — "if  you  went  at  that  kind — threatened  him 
with  what  would  happen " 

"Besides,"  she  said,  breaking  in,  "I  got  what  I 
wanted,  anyway.  I've  got  it  fixed — I've  made  a 
new  bargain,  so  I  won't  have  to  pay  till  it's 
convenient  for  me,  anyway.  That's  the  one  thing 
I  had  to  have,  judge." 

Her  eyes  looked  up  into  mine  again — a  sharp, 
feverish  look,  like  any  other  gambler's,  I  thought 
to  myself.  "When  it's  convenient — when  will  that 
be?"  I  wondered  to  myself,  but  I  didn't  ask  her 
that,  naturally — if  she  didn't  want  to  tell  me  by 
herself. 

"You  threatened  him  with  criminal  suit?"  I 
asked  her. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.  "And  got  just  the 
bargain  that  I  wanted,  thanks  to  you,  sir!" 

"Bargain,"  I  thought  to  myself.  "I  wonder 
what?"  But  that  was  for  her  to  state  of  course 
— not  for  me  to  ask. 

"Well,  madam,"  I  said,  getting  up,  "I  hope 
I've  been  of  some  service,  and  I'm  glad  you're 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  167 

satisfied — and  I'll  watch 'how  you  come  out  with 
more  than  ordinary  interest,  ma'am." 

If  she  didn't  want  to  take  me  into  her  confidence 
about  her  future  plans,  that  was  her  right,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  then  it  was  fairly  obvious  that  she 
was  excited  with  her  old  hopes  once  more — her 
expectations  for  the  girl;  on  general  principles, 
perhaps,  but  more  likely  now  in  a  particular  quar- 
ter. I  wondered  then  if  she  didn't  have  her  eye 
on  another  possibility — the  possibility  that  seemed 
to  me  so  remote  then — that  young  devil,  Cole  Haw- 
kins. He  was — not  entirely  unknown  to  the 
world — engaged  now  in  dragging  that  girl  round 
in  that  car  of  his,  that  Child  of  Hell — giving  her 
a  good  time,  for  pity's  sake,  for  being  sorry  for 
her,  like  he  had  said  he  would.  But  nothing  cer- 
tainly seemed  less  likely  to  me  than  any  hope  for 
the  girl  in  that  direction — if  that  was  what  the 
woman  had  now  in  her  feverish  imagination.  Not 
with  a  boy  with  just  his  angle  on  women — and  the 
only  relation  with  the  only  kind  of  women  that 
that  wild  harum-scarum  kind  establishes — espe- 
cially when  they  are  as  reckless  as  he  had  been 
since  the  war. 

But  I  said  nothing.  After  all,  what  business 
was  it  of  mine,  especially  if  the  woman,  this  Mrs. 
Fairborn,  or  Mrs.  Pitman,  or  the  Scarlet  Cockatoo 
— whatever  you  wanted  to  call  her — chose  to  push 


168  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

me  out  of  her  affairs,  as  she  had  in  making  her  new 
arrangement,  which  she  had  only  told  me  part  of — • 
the  part  she  wanted  me  to  know?  But  naturally 
now  I  could  not  help  watching  this  new  and  not 
entirely  open  turn  in  her  speculation  as  it  devel- 
oped— if  it  could  develop. 

The  group  in  Mrs.  Tusset's — the  watching, 
whispering  women  and  their  secret-service  agent, 
Cupid  Calvert — were,  I  could  see,  not  inactive  in 
investigating  the  matter  along  whatever  lines  of 
research  they  could  establish.  They  were  trying 
St.  Louis  now,  I  gathered,  from  several  things  I 
overheard ;  but,  I  judged  by  what  I  caught,  with 
poor  success.  Being  on  the  inside  myself,  it  was 
more  or  less  amusing  to  see  them  groping  round 
upon  the  matter. 

I  was,  if  the  exact  truth  is  required,  not  without 
curiosity  myself — not  only  as  to  the  outcome  but 
the  details  of  the  whole  rather  extraordinary 
case. 

It  just  so  happened  that  I  was  in  Louisville  that 
month,  invited  up  to  make  a  speech  there  before 
the  state  bar  association,  and  I  inquired  round, 
and  after  dinner  I  found  there  was  a  man  there — 
an  attorney — from  round  Dell  County  or  that  end 
of  the  state;  and  I  satisfied  my  curiosity  to  the 
point  of  asking  him  about  the  Pitman  case  and 
the  part  that  this  girl,  this  White  Shoulders,  had 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  169 

taken  in  it.  He  bore  her  story  out  in  all  particu- 
lars. 

"That  case,  sir,"  he  said  to  me,  <cwas  a  crime 
against  civilization.  This  Singleton — this  Colo- 
nel Singleton,  he  called  himself — was  a  bad  lot — 
a  bad  actor,  as  they  speak  of  them  today.  He 
was  in  politics  some — and  business — and  he  had  a 
lot  of  relations  and  friends  and  political  debtors. 
The  old  clan  spirit  was  in  the  thing,  sir,  naturally. 
It  would  be — in  this  case.  They  were  out — just 
as  the  girl  told  you — to  wreck  them — to  get  re- 
venge, any  way  possible.  And  they  worked  it  so 
that  they  went  outside  and  got  a  special  prosecu- 
tor to  help  out  the  local  man. 

"You  know,  I  expect,  judge,  even  better  than  I 
do,  how  it  is  in  these  small  back  counties,  where 
nobody's  got  much  on  their  mind  for  amusement — 
especially  after  the  crops  are  in — in  court  times. 
A  trial  like  that  ain't  a  trial;  it's  more  like  a 
horse  race.  All — everybody  turns  out  and  drives 
in,  and  they  all  take  sides  one  way  or  the  other. 
It  was  worse — this  one — more  of  it  in  this  case 
than  I  ever  saw,  sir. 

"They  went  outside,  sir,  the  prosecution,  like 
I  told  you — to  make  sure.  And  they  imported 
this  special  man  from  outside — an  unprincipled 
pup.  If  I'd  seen  my  way  to  it  he'd  been  disbarred 
long  ago.  Vitriolic — makes  a  specialty  of  vitriol ! 


170  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

You  know  the  kind.  There's  nothing  he  would 
hesitate  to  bring  up  or  put  a  witness  through. 
And  the  more  he  says  the  more  it  seems  to  infuriate 
him  against  them,  until  he  gets  beside  himself — in 
the  kind  of  orgy  of  fury  against  the  witness  that 
our  courts  too  often  allow  a  lawyer  like  that.  An 
indulgence  of  a  personal  taste  for  cruelty  about 
as  brave  and  noble  and  as  dangerous  to  the  man 
involved  as  a  drunken  poor  white  beating  his 
wife  in  a  lonely  backwoods  cabin.  But  you  know 
the  kind  of  lawyer  I  mean,  judge,  without  specifi- 
cations." 

I  nodded.  I  had  seen  them  operating,  naturally 
— plenty  of  them. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "the  theory  of  the  prose- 
cution— this  man's  theory  of  the  case — was  that 
the  whole  thing  was  a  cold-blooded  murder,  arising 
out  of  a  family  conspiracy  to  force  this  man  to 
marry  the  girl.  And  naturally  they  bent  every- 
thing possible  toward  proving  that — the  actions  of 
everybody  involved.  And  to  tell  the  truth  there 
was  some  superficial  corroboration  of  that  theory 
in  the  mother's  acts.  Everybody  knew  in  the 
district  how  she'd  thrown  the  girl  at  him — and 
had  laughed  at  it  for  months.  But  when  it  came  to 
the  boy  and  the  girl  herself,  there  was  nothing — 
not  a  scintilla  of  evidence — against  her.  And  that 
made  it  worse  for  her  in  a  way." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  171 

"Worse?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  For  the  less  his  theory  worked  out  in 
the  case  the  more  this  Fingart,  this  red-headed 
vermin  of  an  attorney,  went  after  her.  There 
was  nothing  conceivable,  sir,  he  didn't  put  that 
girl  through.  It  makes  my  gorge  rise  now  to 
think  of  it,  and  what  that  damned  political  judge 
they  had  permitted.  By  God,  sir,  the  girl  wasn't 
but  seventeen — and  like  a  child. 

"Finally,  of  course,  this  man  Fingart  over- 
reached himself.  The  jury  not  only  gave  the  boy 
the  lightest  possible  sentence  but  they  went  outside 
their  province  and  said  something  about  the  girl — 
disapproving  the  attacks  and  insinuations  on  her 
— till  the  judge  stopped  them. 

"But  that — you  know  about  how  much  good 
that  did.  They'd  acquitted  her,  you  could  say, 
but  what  good  was  that  to  her  now?  After  all, 
men  are  a  little  sensitive  about  what  folks 
are  going  to  say  about  the  woman  they  are 
going  to  marry.  And  you  know  what  a  lawyer  can 
do  with  a  few  questions !  There  was  no  more 
evidence  against  her  than  the  Angel  Gabriel.  But 
for  all  that,  she  was  made  public  as  the  town  jail, 
and  a  young  man  round  there  was  about  as  apt  to 
marry  her  as  the  public  hangman. 

"The  girl,"  he  went  on,  "was  undoubtedly  free 
and  clean — and  the  boy,  too — from  anything  the 


172  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

prosecution  claimed — from  any  idea  of  conspiracy. 
But  the  mother,  of  course,  was  different — in  a  way. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  she  hoped  the  man  would 
marry  the  girl  for  her  looks." 

"Did  you  know  that — the  mother?"  I  asked  him. 

"Leonora  Fairborn !"  he  told  me.  "I  should  say 
I  did !  I  was  raised  with  her.  A  lightweight — 
a  bunch  of  ribbons.  She  never  grew  over  sixteen 
years  old." 

"She  means  well  enough,  I  expect,  from  what 
little  I've  seen  of  her,"  I  said. 

"Well,  yes,  she  means  well.  But  she  never  grew 
up.  They  don't — that  kind.  I  tell  you,  judge," 
he  went  on — I  could  see  he  was  quite  a  bit  of  a 
theorist — "I  always  held  that  there's  not  more 
than  one  woman  in  three  that's  capable  of  bearing 
and  rearing  a  child — especially  a  female  child 
— and  especially  the  mothers  that  have  been  raised 
up  and  filled  with  that  balderdash,  Sir  Walter 
Scott  romance,  that's  been  such  a  curse  and  a 
detriment  to  the  women  of  our  generation  and  our 
section  in  general.  After  so  long,  I  always  claimed 
the  court  ought  to  step  in  in  about  every  two  out 
of  three  cases  and  take  the  child  away  from  them 
on  the  ground  that  the  mother  is  mentally,  morally 
and  sentimentally  incompetent  to  rear  them. 
Like  tliis  case !" 

"I  expect  the  woman  was  desperate,"  I  said — 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  173 

"the  way  things  turned  out  with  her,  if  I  under- 
stand, it  right,  after  she  married  poorly  herself." 

"Yes.  You  can  say  that  for  her.  She  did 
marry  for  love,  for  romance,  herself.  And  from 
all  accounts  Bob  Pitman  wasn't  exactly  a  capital 
prize  in  the  marriage  lottery,"  he  told  me.  "And 
after  awhile,  I  believe,  it  got  to  be  a  kind  of  ob- 
session with  her — marrying  off  that  girl  right. 
I'll  be  mighty  interested  seeing  how  she  works  out 
this  present  campaign  that  you've  been  telling  me 
about,"  he  said. 

"She's  a  resourceful  and  vigourous  speculator  in 
matrimony,"  I  told  him. 

"Desperate !" 

"That's  it,"  I  told  him. 


XIII 

MRS.  FAIRBORN'S  speculation,  I  should 
have  said  myself  at  that  time,  was  never 
more  desperate;  in  fact  it  seemed  it  must 
almost  certainly  now  be  coming  to  its  final  collapse. 
They  had,  without  a  question,  come  in  the  first 
place  to  the  end  of  the  financial  shoe  string  on 
which  they  were  operating.  Their  money  must  be 
about  gone.  No  matter  what  bargain  this  Scarlet 
Cockatoo,  so-called,  had  made  with  her  hounding, 
blackmailing  dressmaker,  there  must  be  from  their 
circumstances  a  distinct  time  limit  to  their  oper- 
ations in  the  local  marriage  market. 

Not  only  that,  however.  Since  their  setback 
and  defeat  on  Victory  Day  their  field  was  very 
much  restricted.  The  whispering  women  were  still 
active,  and  their  sibilant  suggestions  were  now  more 
generally  accepted  among  the  less  suspicious  and 
more  susceptible  and  idealistic  men — more  so,  at 
least,  in  matters  where  women  are  concerned.  The 
reputation  hounds,  as  Cupid  Calvert  called 
them  all — generously  sharing  his  own  nickname 

with  others — were  now  all  hot  on  the  trail.     All 

174 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  175 

the  local  women — those  in  Mrs.  Tusset's  in  partic- 
ular— were  busy  trying  to  pick  up  the  back  scent 
of  the  mysterious  suspects — especially  since  the 
receipt  of  the  anonymous  letter  with  its  sugges- 
tion concerning  the  Pitman  murder.  And  it  could 
be  only  a  question  of  time  when  they  would  get 
what  they  were  working  for;  in  fact  they  would 
doubtless  have  already  done  this,  I  believe  and 
still  believe,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  women's 
change  of  name  and  the  inaccessibility  of  Dell 
County  from  our  section. 

Fairborn  Courthouse  may  have  had  postal 
service;  I  assume  it  did  have.  But  probably  no 
more ;  and  it  was  as  yet  not  even  sure — froms 
their  viewpoint,  I  mean — that  the  trial  mentioned 
in  the  letter  was  held  there.  And  so,  for  the 
moment,  the  hunt  was  suspended,  while  the  Fair- 
born  or  Pitman  women  moved  as  fast  as  possible 
on  with  their  own  hunting. 

They  were  fortunate  in  one  respect  in  both  their 
operations — in  their  selection  of  their  men.  If 
Gordon,  with  his  exclusive  nature  and  high  self- 
esteem,  was  inaccessible  to  gossip  and  scandal — 
the  last  person  in  the  world  to  hear  it — Cole 
Hawkins  was  something  more.  If  he  learned  it 
he  would  take  sharp  satisfaction  in  denying  it 
and  flouting  it.  It  would'  spur  him  on  in  the 
opposite  direction,  defying  the  squawkers,  as  he 


176  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

profanely  called  our  better  local  women ;  and  mak- 
ing it  a  questionable  and  dangerous  operation  for 
any  man  who  might  bring  him  information  which 
did  not  quite  please  him. 

And  he  was  especially  ugly  against  the  social 
arbiters  who  took  counsel  together  in  the  hall  at 
Mrs.  Tusset's — "that  hen  yard,  cackling  and 
quacking  and  hissing  together" — with  Cupid  Cal- 
vert,  whom  he  particularly  despised. 

So  the  chief  actor  now  concerned  with  the  two 
women's  future  could  be  counted  not  only  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  the  best-informed  public  opinion  but, 
if  possible,  to  run  a  course  directly  contrary  to  it. 
And  this  was  a  factor  in  the  case,  I  have  no  doubt, 
that  the  women — especially  that  Mrs.  Fairborn — 
understood  long  before  I  did — or  before  I  even 
realized  the  temporary  hopefulness  of  her  fortune 
— as  she  now  saw  it. 

"Do  you  know  what's  happening,  judge,  in  that 
thing?"  Belle  Davis  asked  me  in  the  hallway 
again  before  dinner. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"It's  the  screamingest  thing  that  ever  came  to 
pass  on  this  earth." 

"What  is?" 

"They're  reforming  him !"  she  told  me.  "White 
Shoulders  and,  the  Cockatoo  are  breaking  Cole 
Hawkins  of  drinking." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  177 

"Fact,  judge!"  said  Cupid  Calvert.  "I  know 
it.  He's  cutting  out  the  rude  and  riotous — all 
for  the  sake  of  White  Shoulders  1" 

"You  ought  not  to  allow  that,"  I  told  him. 
"You  ought  to  discredit  them  and  drive  them  out 
of  town  somehow  first !" 

"You'd  think,  judge,"  said  Julia  Blakelock,  "to 
hear  you  talk,  you  were  defending  them." 

"I'll  say  myself,"  Belle  Davis  came  in,  "if  they 
stop  him  from  what  he's  been  doing  the  past  six 
months — if  only  from  what  he's  been  doing  with 
that  machine — that  Child  of  Hell  of  his — they'll 
have  done  a  big  kindness  to  this  town." 

"If  they  keep  him  off  the  sidewalks  and  going 
home  looping  the  loops  round  the  telephone  poles 
and  lamp-posts,  we'll  have  fewer  little  children  to 
pick  out  of  his  front  wheels,"  Cupid  contributed. 

"He  hasn't  killed  anybody  yet,  drunk  or  sober 
— you've  got  to  admit  that,"  I  told  him. 

"No,"  he  said;  "he's  a  wizard  with  that  thing. 
You've  certainly  got  to  admit  that.  But  you 
always  hate  to  see  a  drunk  going  staggering  home 
late  at  night — eighty  miles  an  hour.  It  makes  you 
kind  of  nervous.  It  does  me." 

"He's  a  menace  to  the  whole  community,  judge," 
said  Julia  Blakelock,  "and  you  know  it !" 

"He  certainly  would  be,"  I  told  her,  "if  half  the 
things  they  say  about  him  are  true." 


178  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

For  what  they  said  about  him  those  last  few 
months  was  aplenty — since  he  came  back  home, 
with  his  chagrin  and  disappointment  and — I  some- 
times thought — his  shame  for  not  getting  into  the 
war;  and  his  fool  boy's  hunger  to  show  off — what 
he  might  have  done  if  he'd  been  there ! 

"War,"  old  Sam  Barsam  used  to  say,  "is  just 
nothing  but  the  king  of  games — that's  all.  It's 
nothing  but  a  playing  against  death — like  most 
games  that  a  boy  of  spirits  wants  to  show  he  can 
do — breaking  the  worst  colt  or  climbing  the  cliff 
or  swimming  the  river.  You  don't  fight  the  enemy 
so  much  in  war  as  you  fight  death.  There's  your 
real  enemy — to  cheat  and  flout  and  slip  away  from, 
thumbing  your  nose.  You're  fighting  death — the 
same  old  boy's  game — in  war.  That's  what  always 
makes  it  so  popular  with  boys,"  he  claimed. 

It  was  that,  I  assume,  that  Cole  Hawkins  set 
out  to  do  in  the  stunts  they  claimed  he  tried  with 
that  great  motor  car  of  his — especially  when  he 
had  been  drinking — setting  his  brakes  and  whirl- 
ing on  slippery  streets ;  skidding  round  the  cor- 
ners, grazing  niggers'  wagons  with  his  fenders, 
scaring  them  hollering  crazy;  running  up  banks 
and  into  yards.  For  he  could  handle  the  thing  to 
the  fraction  of  an  inch.  It  was  an  instrument  of 
precision  in  his  hands. 

If  he  couldn't  loop  the  loop  and  show  them 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  179 

spinning  nose  dives  in  the  air,  anyhow  he  could 
still  show  what  he  thought  of  death — on  wheels 
— and  what  he  might  have  done  if  they'd  ever 
once  let  him  loose  on  the  Germans — and  incident- 
ally the  skill  they  might  have  had  at  their  service  if 
they'd  had  sense  enough  to  keep  him,  in  spite 
of  his  damaged  leg,  and  sent  him  out  in  an  aero- 
plane to  take  Berlin  single-handed. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  things  they  told  about 
him  was  about  his  handling  of  the  so-called  road 
hogs,  a  thing  which  to  my  mind  showed  a  lot 
about  him,  in  more  than  one  way.  He  had  a 
special  grudge  against  that  kind  of  cattle — always 
seemed  to  hear  about  them  and  store  his  mind 
with  them,  some  way — about  every  fat  and  in- 
solent fellow  with  a  heavy  car  that  crowded  a 
poor  farmer  in  his  so-called  flivver  off  the  road. 
And  when  he  was  a  little  drunk  he  would  go  out 
looking  for  them.  That  was  his  amusement — 
to  wipe  off  their  brand-new  shiny  mud  guards 
from  them  with  that  battered  heavy  Child  of 
Hell.  He  was  the  terror  of  half  the  fat  under- 
bred drivers  of  cars,  these  so-called  road  hogs,  in 
the  county.  It  was  the  talk  of  the  section — 
the  neatness  and  dispatch  with  which  he  did  his 
work  on  them.  So  much  so  that  there  was  quite  a 
change  in  road  manners  in  our  vicinity.  For 
these  folks  not  only  hated  to  be  banged  up  by  him 


180  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

on  the  road  but  they  hated  still  worse  to  come  into 
court  and  be  laughed  out  again,  with  what  he  andi 
his  lawyers  always  seemed  to  know  about  them 
and  could  prove  up  from  other  people. 

"I've  seen  him  myself,"  Cupid  Calvert  claimed, 
"going  home  at  night  when  he  was  drunk  as  a 
boiled  owl,  go  up  and  wipe  off  a  nice  new  shiny 
mud  guard,  as  handy  as  you'd  pick  up  your 
napkin  from  the  table." 

"But  now  there's  no  more  of  that.  He's  got 
company  for  his  night  riding,"  said  Julia  Blake- 
lock. 

That  was  how  they  were  known  now — the  two 
— at  Mrs.  Tusset's — as  The  Night  Riders.  For 
by  this  time  they  were  out  continually  evenings 
— tearing  round  the  country  in  that  Child  of  Hell, 
roaring  down  country  roads  like  a  scared  thunder- 
storm. 

"Well,  anyhow,  if  she  can  do  that — keep  him 
straight  at  night — I'll  say  this,"  said  Belle  Davis 
— "she's  done  a  big  thing.  And  if  she  reforms 
him — gets  him  to  quit  drinking — she's  done  a 
miracle.  If  she  straightens  out  Cole  Hawkins,  I 
say  she's  entitled  to  him." 

"She  can  have  him,  and  welcome,  for  all  of  me," 
said  Julia  Blakelock. 

"I  always  knew  it,"  said  Cupid  Calvert,  with  his 
sunny  smile  to  the  Davis  girl. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  181 

"Knew  what?" 

"That  you  were  of  a  deeply  romantic  nature, 
Belle.  That  sometime  sooner  or  later  you'd  let  it 
destroy  your  poor  little  sense  of  humour." 

And  Julia  Blakelock  laughed — rather  briefly. 

'Two  adventuresses,"  she  said,  "Belle,  reform- 
ing anybody — Cole  Hawkins  especially!  You're 
funny !" 

"It's  more  than  funny,  Belle,"  said  Cupid. 
"It's  humouresque." 

I  must  confess  that  at  the  time  it  seemed  to  me 
myself  a  somewhat  eccentric  stroke  of  fate — to  put 
it  mildly — for  these  two  women,  that  girl,  under 
the  circumstances — her  past  and  her  present  and 
the  few  days  remaining  now  to  her  in  the  town,  in 
all  human  probability — to  have  started  conscious- 
ly or  unconsciously  a  movement  to  reform  Cole 
Hawkins. 

It  might  be  a  pose — as  my  friends  in  Mrs. 
Tusset's  clearly  intimated — one  of  a  variety  of 
poses  which  "that  kind"  would  use  to  snare  their 
prey.  The  whispering  women  were  better  qual- 
ified to  give  erpert  testimony  on  that  subject  than 
I.  But  it  struck  me,  if  it  was  true — which  I  did 
not  know  of  my  own  knowledge  then — that  it  would 
be  a  wicked  situation  to  see  develop;  and  a  very 
dangerous  one  from  the  standpoint  of  the  two 
women,  working  with  a  character  just  like  Cole 


182  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

Hawkins,  when  he  once  came  to  know  the  truth. 

I  did  see  now  that  something  was  developing 
there.  It  would  have  taken  a  blind  man  to  miss  it 
finally — even  if  the  two,  Hawkins  and  that  Snowy 
Shoulders,  had  not  been  together  in  that  car  all 
the  time — merely  from  watching  the  facial  expres- 
sions of  the  principals  of  the  transaction.  Cole 
Hawkins,  if  not  reformed,  was  becoming  at  least 
half  broken,  as  Belle  Davis  said,  to  human  society, 
and  the  vociferous  satisfaction  of  the  mother,  the 
Scarlet  Cockatoo,  "back  in  her  old  voice,"  as  Cal- 
vert  said,  was  scarcely  more  obvious'  than  the  silent 
pleasure  or  anticipation,  or  relief  from  grinding 
apprehension,  which  showed  in  the  face  of  White 
Shoulders  at  the  approach  of  the  booming  car  on 
the  road  and  in  our  driveway. 

I  had  a  clew,  I  could  assume,  to  the  girl's  feel- 
ings in  part,  from  her  confidence  to  me  concerning 
that  apparently  unlikely  but  not  really  remarkable 
hunger  of  hers  for  motion,  freedom — horses — and, 
I  might  assume,  cars ;  that  girlish  instinct,  grown 
stronger — always  intensified,  it  might  be  expected. 
— through  those  months  of  strain,  sitting  silent, 
fearful  in  the  centre  of  hostile  watching  eyes, 
waiting  for  some  new  shame  to  overwhelm  her. 

In  a  way,  if  you  analyse  the  probabilities  of  the 
case,  there  were  quite  promising  foundations  for  a 
possible  mutual  understanding  between  these  two. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  183 

Their  tastes  were  not  so  different ;  they  -were  both 
caught  in  a  rather  extraordinarily  ugly  corner, 
for  their  time  of  life ;  and  with  the  more  vigourous 
reaction  which  youth  gives  to  trouble  they  might 
fairly  bcth  be  said  to  be  desperate  young  creatures 
and  so  to  have  at  least  the  mutual  sympathy 
of  desperation,  which  might  easily  develop  into  a 
sympathy  of  another  more  ardent  kind. 

They  talked  very  little  together,  it  was  claimed 
by  those  who  observed  them  on  their  drives — they 
would  naturally  in  that  noisy  machine.  Merely 
passed  on  their  way  by  the  staring  bystanders — 
and  everything  else  that  moved  upon  the  road — 
two  silent,  moody,  striking  figures,  apparently 
satisfied  with  the  mere  knowledge  of  each  other's 
presence  and  a  general  mutual  delight  in  speed. 

So  it  was  not  necessary,  I  concluded,  upon  final 
consideration,  to  assume  any  further  conscious 
posing  or  trickery  on  the  part  of  the  girl  at  least 
— in  the  way  of  insincere  and  hypercritical 
attempts  at  reforming  our  unregenerate  young 
fellow  townsman,  Cole  Hawkins — unlikely  as  that 
conclusion  might  seem  to  the  casual  observer. 

If  you  do  not  hold  the  theory  that  "the  only 
heaven  we  know  about  lies  just  in  behind  our  eyes," 
as  the  godless,  free-thinking  old  Judge  Cato 
Pendleton  used  to  remark,  "in  the  illusions  of  the 
individual  human  brain,"  yet  you  can  scarcely 


184.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

doubt  his  claim  that  "the  original  angel  factory 
was  the  brain  of  the  young  male  between  sixteen 
and,  say,  twenty-six.  Put  any  nice,  clean,  sweet- 
looking  girl  beside  one  long  enough,"  he  used  to  go 
on,  "and  you  have  an  angel — provided  she  has 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  not  to  talk  with  too 
great  freedom." 

That  process  then — that  "spontaneous  genera- 
tion of  an  angel"  of  Judge  Pendleton's — was  tak- 
ing place,  I  believed  I  could  begin  to  see,  now  that 
the  matter  was  being  called  to  my  attention — 
in  the  distinctly  unangelic  mind  of  Cole  Hawkins. 
It  is  that  very  kind,  in  fact,  I  have  not  infrequent- 
ly observed,  who  tend  to  set  up  and  glorify  good 
women  beyond  all  reason  and  deserts — maybe  as  a 
kind  of  reaction  from  their  own  sins.  This  not 
uncommon  development  manifested  itself  in  Cole 
Hawkins  to  me  in  the  not  unusual  form  for  such 
folks  as  he  of  self-abasement  before  the  new 
creation. 

I  saw  the  boy  perhaps  more  than  any  other  man 
in  the  town  did,  and  more  intimately — my  office, 
where  I  spend  most  of  my  own  leisure,  offering 
maybe  a  convenient  stopping  place  on  the  main 
street  for  male  callers  of  various  kinds,  including 
quite  a  number  of  those  loneliest  of  all  human 
creatures,  the  men  of  all  ages  who  hang  round 
hotel  corridors  and  cigar  stores,  because  they 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  185 

have  no  other  place  to  go  and  lay  their  head. 

The  subject  of  the  angel  was  approached  as 
usual,  not  directly,  but,  as  it  not  unnaturally  is, 
by  casual  and  theoretical  discussion  of  purely 
hypothetical  cases,  based  upon  a  consideration  of 
the  speaker's  own  character. 

"When  a  man  has  lived  as  I  have — the  past 
year  or  two,  in  particular,  judge,"  Cole  Hawkins 
asked  me — "what  do  you  think?  Do  you  think  he 
ever  can  be  fit — can  he  ever  straighten  himself  up 
so  a  nice,  decent,  pure,  quiet  girl  would  ever 
think  of  marrying  him?" 

"It  has  been  done,  I  expect,  son,"  I  said  to  him 
— smiling  the  fraction  of  a  well-hidden  smile  under 
my  mustache. 

"Yes,  I  know,  judge,"  he  told  me.  "If  you 
cover  up  everything  and  hide  yourself — as  you 
can,  naturally,  with  a  fine,  pure,  inexperienced' 
girl.  But  that's  one  thing  I  hate  above  all  things 
on  earth — and  I  never  stooped  to  yet:  Lying; 
showing  out  that  I'm  different  than  I  really  am." 

"I'd  go  your  bond  on  that,  Cole,"  I  said,  "where 
maybe  I  wouldn't  on  some  other  things — like 
assault  and  battery  and  mayhem  and  general 
breach  of  the  peace." 

"I  don't  know,  judge,"  he  went  on,  shaking  his 
head,  considering  his  sins.  "I've  been  running 
pretty  mighty  wild. — especially  here  lately.  I've 


186  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

been  through  hell  the  past  twelve  months,  and  take 
my  word  for  it,  judge,  I've  been  scraping  bottom. 
If  there  wasn't  anything  I  could  think  of  to  do, 
I'd  hire  a  man  to  sit  up  nights  and  discover  it  for 
me." 

And  about  that  time  he  would  change  the 
subject.  He  was  shy,  like  that  species  is  apt  to 
be. 

He  couldn't  help,  though,  speaking  of  the  girl, 
praising  her,  defending  her  against  the  attacks 
he  had  heard  at  first  about  her — a  few  attacks  on 
any  good-looking  girl,  if  they  are  not  too  bad, 
being  one  of  the  most  stimulating  of  all  help  in  the 
process  of  angel  making. 

"They  make  me  laugh,  those  hens  in  council,"  he 
told  me,  "those  whispering  women,  as  you  call 
them,  judge,  with  their  talk  about  those  dress- 
maker's bills.  I  expect  if  every  woman  that  owes 
dressmakers  more  than  they  could  pay  was  put  in 
jail  herself,  the  houses  in  this  town  would  be  kept 
empty — one  time  or  another." 

"There'd  be  quite  an  exodus,  maybe,"  I  agreed 
with  him. 

"And  for  that  matter,"  he  went  along,  "you 
know  and  I  know  it's  the  mother  in  that  combi- 
nation that's  responsible  for  all  that — for  the 
dress  part.  That's  clear  on  the  face  of  it.  That 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  187 

girl  don't  care  that  for  dressing !  She  shows  it  by 
her  actions.  She'd  rather  keep  quiet  and  out  of 
sight  any  day  than  show  herself  round." 

"I  expect  that's  right,"  I  told  him. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said,  going  on  a  little  further. 
"Let  roe  tell  you  something.  I'm  nobody's  fool. 
I  know  a  good  girl  when  I  see  one." 

I  looked  at  him. 

"I  ought  to,"  he  said.  "I've  seen  enough  of  the 
other  kind — the  past  few  years." 

He  stopped,  looking  off  with  those  moody  black 
eyes  of  his,  trying  to  stop  talking  to  me  about  her 
— and  not  able  to  yet. 

"She's  been  through  some  big  trouble — she 
won't  tell  just  how  much;  that  ain't  her  style — to 
holler,  judge.  But  she's  got  more  courage  and 
sand  in  her  little  finger  than  I  have  in  my  whole 
body.  She's  made  me  quit  drinking  already, 
judge.  Maybe  before  she  gets  through  she'll 
make  a  man  out  of  me !" 

And  then  he  sat  awhile  longer.  "Oh,  I  know," 
he  went  on  then,  "what  I've  been  and  am — don't 
fret — and  what  she  is.  She's  too  good  for  me, 
that's  all." 

"If  it's  my  cue — if  you're  calling  on  me  for  a 
speech,"  I  said  when  he  stopped  off  and,  stared  at 
the  floor,  "I'll  say  now  that  you  might  go  some 


188  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

distance  farther  and  fare  considerably  worse  right 
now  than  to  get  this  girl  you  are  now  talking 
about." 

And  that  naturally  didn't  displease  him. 

"You're  right  there,  judge,"  he  told  me  warmly. 
"And  let  me  tell  you  something  else — if  I  ever  hear 
any  loose  talk  round  me,  like  there  started  there 
for  a  minute  after  that  day,  that  Pageant  of  the 
Roses,"  he  said,  setting  those  black  reckless  eyes  of 
his  on  mine,  "there'll  be  some  trouble  starting  just 
right  after  that  in  this  town." 

And  following  this  remark  he  took  up  his  hat 
and  clapped  it  on  that  black  mop  of  hair  of  his  and 
went  out — thinking  he'd  shown  his  personal 
feelings  enough,  probably,  for  that  one  session. 

"A  wounded  angel,"  as  old  Judge  Pendleton  said 
in  that  private  lecture  of  his  on  the  Illusions  of 
Courtship,  "is  about  the  most  appealing  object  we 
have  to  any  right-minded  young  man." 

I  could  begin  to  see  then  that  we  had  a  pretty 
pronounced  case  of  this  in  our  midst ;  and  it  began 
to  be  a  serious  question  already,  in  my  mind,  just 
where  this  matter  was  going  to  lead  us. 

The  whispering  women,  the  whole  pack  of  repu- 
tation hounds,  were  certainly  not,  could  not  be  far 
distant,  with  Calvert's  own  able  aid,  from  the  trail 
of  the  two  women  back  through  St.  Louis  to  Dell 
County.  They  were  trying  now,  through  Calvert, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  189 

I  was  quite  sure,  to  get  in  touch  with  the  infor- 
mation that  could  be  had  through  A.  Gluber, 
Costumer.  And  when  they  once  achieved  their 
object  and  began  spreading  the  glad  news,  compli- 
cations might  easily  be  at  hand,  I  could  now  see — 
knowing  Cole  Hawkins  generally  and  his  present 
state  of  mind,  as  I  did — which  might  be  highly  un- 
pleasant, if  not  serious,  to  more  parties  than  one. 


XIV 

I  WAS  not  prepared,  though — to  be  right) 
frank  and  open  with  you — for  that  next 
turn  that  the  affair  took. 

The  woman,  in  fact,  this  Mrs.  Fairborn,  had 
seemed  in  the  past  week  or  so  to  be  taking  on  a 
new  lease  of  life.  She  had  said  nothing  definite  to 
me  on  what  was  really  in  her  mind,  but  her  looks 
had  more  than  once  told  me,  in  practically  so 
many  words :  "It's  coming  out  all  right,  sir." 

It  was  consequently  with  considerable  amaze- 
ment that  I  beheld  her  walking  into  my  office  one 
morning  in  the  extraordinary  state — especially 
for  her — of  almost  inarticulate  excitement. 

"Judge,  sir,"  she  said  to  me  finally,  "do  you 
know  what's  happened,  what's  occurred  now,  sir  ?" 

And  before  I  could  ask  her  what  had,  she  had 
started  walking  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  in 
the  limited  confines  of  my  office. 

"What  has,  ma'am?"  I  managed  to  ask  her 
finally. 

"That  wicked,  ungrateful  child !"  she  said ;  and 
started  walking  on  again,  tearing  a  small  lace 

handkerchief  into  strips  while  she  did  so. 
190 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  191 

"Sit  down,  madam,"  I  said  to  her.  "Calm 
yourself." 

But  she  was  beyond  taking  advice — or  even 
hearing  it.  She  marched  up  and  down  the  room, 
a  distracted  mass  of  ribbons ;  her  eyes  were  set, 
her  hair  starting  loose,  her  hat  starting  tilting  a 
little  over  her  red  and  white  face. 

"After  all  these  years  that  I've  devoted  myself 
— my  whole  life.  I've  lavished  everything  I've 
had — everything  that  heart  could  desire — on  her, 
and  now,  in  the  end — in  my  need " 

"Madam,"  I  said,  going  toward  her,  for  I  saw 
now  I  was  dealing  with  a  person  beside  herself — 
"madam,  take  a  hold  on  yourself." 

"Do  you  know  what  that  girl's  done?" 

"Who?"  I  asked  her. 

"Virginia." 

"No.     What?" 

"She's  refused — refused  the  proposal — of  that 
Mr.  Hawkins.  He's  proposed,  and  she's  refused 
him!  Not  only  that.  She  won't  even  see  him. 
Can't  be  got  to  see  him  again!"  she  said,  and 
started  on  her  march  once  more. 

The  moisture  even  came  out  through  the  powder 
on  her  vividly  contrasted  complexion ;  I  expect 
she  began  crying  some.  There  were  stains  of  red 
on  her  torn  handkerchief  where  she  dabbed  at  her 
eyes. 


192  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Oh,  I  never  thought — dreamed — it  would  come 
to  this !  That  a  child  would  turn,  like  this,  on  the 
mother  that  bore  her — on  her  own  mother — on  her 
own  happiness.  I  never  dreamed  that  such  things 
could  be!" 

She  stopped  short,  opposite  me.  "Judge,  sir," 
she  said  in  a  shrill  appeal,  "you've  got  to  help  me, 
sir.  I'm  come  to  a  desperate  pass,  sir.  I'm  in 
desperate  circumstances." 

I'm  willing,"  I  told  her,  "madam,  to  do  all  that 
I  can.  But  I've  got  to  know  the  circumstances 
first,  ma'am.  And  I  can't  advise  you  to  advan- 
tage, with  you  a-running  and  racing  up  and  down 
my  office.  Sit  down,  ma'am.  Sit  down,"  I  said. 

And  finally  I  prevailed  upon  her  to  do  so. 

"Now  then,  ma'am,"  I  told  her,  "let's  begin 
right.  What  are  the  circumstances?" 

"You  know  what  our  circumstances  are,  judge. 
Or  I  suppose  you  do.  If  not,  I'll  tell  you  now, 
sir,"  she  said.  "I've  got  just  seventy-five  dollars 
left  in  the  world.  That's  my  circumstances,  sir!" 

I  waited,  now  she  was  launched. 

"My  boy,  sir,"  she  said,  going  on,  "at  present 
is  languishing  in  jail,  sir,  for  circumstances  which 
are  connected  with  my  daughter,  with  the  defence 
and  protection  of  this  obstinate,  ungrateful  girl 
against  calumny." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  193 

I  waited  again. 

"Her  family,"  she  said,  "is  ruined.  The  Fair- 
boms  are  gone  forever — sunk  out  of  sight  beneath 
the  waves  of  adversity  and  sorrow,  sir,  like  many 
another  of  our  first  families  of  the  South  before 
the  war — all  because  of  this  mad,  crazy,  ungrate- 
ful girl  of  mine.  For  she  is  crazy,  sir,  I  believe. 
I  firmly  believe  it,  sir !"  she  said  staring  at  me 
"If  anybody  had  told  me,  sir,  that  this  was  possible 
a  year  ago,  I  would  have  said  he  was  mad." 

"Just  what "  I  started  asking  her.  But  she 

hurried,  again  along  her  own  line  of  thought. 

"And  this,"  she  said  in  a  wail,  "is  being  a 
mother!  Judge,"  she  said,  appealing  to  me,  "I 
only  want  justice.  I  only  want  what's'  reasonable* 
But  this  is  wrong — absolutely  wrong.  I  took 
that  child,  sir.  I  was  her  mother.  I  lavished 
everything  on  her — my  affection,  my  mind,  my 
soul !  I  gave  her  everything  that  a  young  girl's 
heart  desires.  Dresses,  parties,  lovely  times. 
She  was  the  most  beautiful  child,,  naturally !  And 
no  pains  in  the  world  were  spared  by  us — by  me — 
to  make  her  perfect,  sir — all  a  refined,  high- 
spirited  Southern  lady  should  be.  All  the  little 
refinements  and  delicacies  that  come  to  a  Southern 
girl,  delicately  reared  in  a  refined  atmosphere  of  a 
Southern  home.  And  now " 


194  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"And  now?"  I  prompted,  watching  her  as  she 
dabbed  her  face  again  with  her  reddened  handjter- 
chief. 

"And  now — she  is  crazy !  She  is  going  to  ruin 
us  all.  In  the  desperate  circumstances  that  now 
face  us." 

"You  want  me  to  help  you,  ma'am,"  I  said, 
checking  her  finally.  "So  you  say." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well  then,  if  I'm  going  to,"  I  said,  "I'll  have 
to  ask  you,  a  little  more  in  detail,  just  what  your 
circumstances  are,  I  expect.  You  say  all  you 
have  left  now  is  seventy-five  dollars  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Exactly,  sir." 

"In  the  world?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  have  no  property — anywhere?" 

"No,  sir.  Not  a  dollar.  It  was  all  disposed  of 
— at  the  time  of  the  trial  and  since — the  last  of  it. 
And  more  than  that,  sir,  every  other  morsel  of 
property — every  jewel  or  personal  ornament  I 
possessed — all  the  Fairborn  heirlooms — have  all 
gone  now.  You  understand!,  sir — everything!" 

I  understood. 

"Everything  in  the  world,  sir,  to  help — to  do 
what  I  thought  a  mother  should  do — to  help  this 
ungrateful  crazy  daughter  to  be  happy  through- 
out her  life." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  195 

"To  help  marry  her,  I  understand  you  to  mean." 

"Yes,  sir.  To  give  her  her  chance — to  make  a 
good  and  honorable  marriage — to  marry  some 
lovely  high-bred  man,  worthy  of  her — of  her  fam- 
ily— in  mind  and  manners  and  means.  To  give 
her  the  circumstances  she  should  have,  and  her 
mother  never  did!" 

"And  to  do  that,"  I  kept  on,  "You  mortgaged, 
as  I  understand,  you,  your  whole  life — your  whole 
future !" 

"Exactly,  judge.  You've  told  it  exactly  right, 
sir." 

"And  more  than  that,  I  expect,"  I  said,  draw- 
ing her  along,  "you've  got  this  debt — this  obli- 
gation still  to  that  dressmaker  in  St.  Louis — that 
man  Gluber — for  her  dresses." 

"Yes,  judge.     Yes." 

"Just  what  was  the  bargain — that  last  one  you 
made  with  him?"  I  asked  her.  "When  you  went 
up  that  last  time  to  St.  Louis?  You  signed  an- 
other note,  I  assume,"  I  said,  when  she  waited, 
"or  something  of  the  kind,  to  take  the  place  of 
your  previous  obligation  to  him." 

"Yes,  sir,  that  was  it." 

"For  a  larger  sum,  maybe,"  I  said,  guessing 
now — to  that  extent. 

"Well,  yes,  sir.     A  little  larger." 

"In  what  form?"  I  asked  her. 


196  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"It  was  in  the  form  of  a  demand  note,"  she 
told  me,  with  an  obviously  growing  reluctance. 
"But  with  an  understanding  about  it  between  us." 

"What  understanding?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  demonstrated  to  him, 
judge,"  she  said — "I  told  him  what  you  said  I 
might  concerning  the  illegality  of  his  claim — 
what  could  be  done  to  him  for  his  actions.  And 
then  I  showed  him  that  anyhow  we  had  nothing — 
no  money  we  could  pay  him — nothing  beyond  the 
dresses  he  had  sold  us." 

"And  so  you  let  him  make  out  a  new  note — is 
that  it?"  I  asked  her. 

"Yes,   sir — for  a  compromise." 

"Probably  fixed  over  now  so  it  will  hold  le- 
gaily." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  sir,  but  we  have  an 
understanding  between  us." 

"In  writing?"  I  asked. 

"No;  Verbal,  sir.  Verbal.  But  he's  fixed  so 
he  will  carry  out  our  understanding — he'll  be  com- 
pelled to  by  circumstances.  Because  he  can't  do 
anything  else.  He  cant  get  anything  else  from 
us.  We  haven't  got  it!" 

"Just  what  was  it — your  understanding  with 
this  man?"  I  asked  her. 

"Well,  I  told,  him  what  the  chances  were  now. 
How  probable  it  was,  if  he  didn't  interfere  with 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  197 

us,  that  Virginia,  sir,  would  get  married.  Would 
be  pretty  sure  to  do  so — if  we  were  given  the 
chance." 

"To  whom?" 

"Well— 4o  that  Mr.  Hawkins,  probably." 

"And  so  he  took  the  chance  with  you,"  I  said, 
"that  you'd  get  the  girl  married  to  Hawkins — or 
somebody." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"In  which  case  he  would  get  a  larger  sum — a 
larger  stake,"  I  said,  seeing  the  thing.  "Where- 
as in  the  case  of  failure  he  would  still  have  all  he 
would  have  had  before — the  right  to  take  back  the 
dresses." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"With  a  new  form  of  note — that  will  be  better, 
we  can  assume,  from  his  standpoint." 

"No  doubt,  sir,"  she  said,  watching  me. 

"It  was  a  good  compromise,"  I  said,  "I  expect, 
from  his  standpoint!" 

And  she  didn't  say  anything. 

I  sat  myself  then,  thinking  of  the  end — the 
narrowing  end  of  the  blind  alley  that  these  two 
had  about  reached  now — the  finish  of  the  strange 
operations  of  that  female  speculator. 

"You  have  seventy-five  dollars,"  I  said  to  her 
finally.  "Enough  to  pay  your  board  at  Mrs. 
Tusset's  two  weeks  longer,  maybe.  Then  what?" 


198  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"I  don't  know,  sir.     Unless  the  sidewalk." 

"Haven't  you  a  soul — not  a  relation?'* 

"Not  a  near  relation,  sir." 

"And  even  the  dresses — of  the  girl — go  back  to 
Gluber,  as  soon  as  he  hears  about  it,"  I  said. 

And  she  nodded,  weeping  now,  with  self-pity, 
into  her  torn  and  reddened  handkerchief. 

"Well,  madam,"  I  said  at  length,  "I  could  help 
you  somewhat,  I  expect,  financially.  You  could 
command  me  there — to  some  extent." 

And  at  that  she  did  what  I  expected  she  might 
do:  She  jumped  up  and  fought  me. 

"No,  sir !"  she  cried  out.  "No,  sir !  We  are  no 
objects  of  charity,  sir.  We're  Fairborns!" 

"What  is  it  then?"  I  asked  her.  "What  is  it 
you  believe  that  I  should  do?" 

"Just  one  thing — that's  all,  sir.  There's  just 
one  thing  to  be  done!" 

"What?" 

"I  want  you  to  consent  to  see  my  girl,  sir.  I 
want  you  to  say  that  you'll  tell  her  what  she's 
got  to  do — for  herself,  for  everybody.  To  give 
up  her  crazy  course,  sir,  and  act  sensible.  She 
respects  you,  judge.  She  respects  your  opinion 
tremendously  and  values  your  friendiship,  sir,  and 
she's  promised  me  she  would  be  willing  to  see  and 
talk  with  you,  sir,  if  you  will  consent  to  see  her 
and  advise  with  her,  sir." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  199 

"In  the  first  place,  madam,"  I  said,  "before  we 
go  any  further,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question: 
Does  this  young  man — this  Hawkins — know  all 
your  circumstances — just  what  you  and  your 
daughter  have — have  encountered  in  the  past  few 
years  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,"  she  wanted  to  know 
— "do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  you  think  an 
alliance  with  my  Virginia — with  a  Fairborn — 
would  be  beneath  this  young  man — or  anybody 
in  this  country,  sir?" 

"Madam,"  I  said,  "I  wasn't  opening  up  just 
that  question.  I  was  just  bringing  before  you 
another  question  of  fact  and  of  policy — which 
sooner  or  later  you  and  your  daughter  would  have 
to  look  in  the  face:  That  sooner  or  later  this 
man,  if  he  married  your  daughter,  would  have  to 
know  the  circumstances  of  your  daughter — that 
whole  matter  of  the  Pitman  trial." 

She  gave  a  start  when  I  said  this. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  she  inquired, 
looking  up  quickly. 

"Only  what  you — and  later  your  daughter — 
informed  me;  and  what  one  subsequent  informant 
has  told  me." 

"There  was  nothing — against  Virginia — abso- 
lutely. Even  the  jury "  she  started. 

"I  understand  that,"  I  told  her.     "All  that  I 


200  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

was  directing  your  attention  to  at  this  time  was 
that  very  soon  now  the  details  are  pretty  mighty 
sure  to  be  known  here.  I  have  said  nothing  what- 
ever myself,  naturally,  of  what  I  know — to  a 
living  soul — but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  oth- 
ers  # 

"That  Calvert  1"  she  said,  going  straight  to  the 
mark. 

" are  making  inquiries — in  St.  Louis — and 

very  likely  in  Dell  County — that  in  a  very  short 
time  now  will  doubtless  produce  results ;  and  then 
naturally,  this  young  man  Hawkins  would  know." 

"What  difference  would  it  make  with  that 
harum-scarum  boy  ?" 

"It  might  make  a  heap  of  difference,  ma'am," 
I  said.  "You  can't  tell.  Especially  if  he  knew 
that  you-all  had  been  keeping  the  thing  from  him." 

"He'd  marry  her  tomorrow,"  she  said. 

"He  might,"  I  admitted. 

"That's  what  he  wanted  her  to  do — begged  her 
to.  To  run  off  with  him  in  that  car  of  his  and  get 
married  on  the  spot — and  she  wouldn't  do  it. 
And  now  she  won't  even  see  him.  She's  afraid  to, 
he's  so  crazy  over  her.  He  might  drag  her  away 
with  him  anyway." 

"Now  then,  there's  a  second  thing,"  I  told  her. 
"The  real  main  reason  I  can't  interfere,  or  any  one 
else — or  have  any  right  to.  I  certainly  myself 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  201 

can't  be  a  party,  madam,  to  a  bargain  to  sell  a  girl 
— for  you  or  Mr.  Gluber  or  for  the  sake  of  any 
circumstances — no  matter  how  desperate  they  are ; 
to  force  your  daughter  to  marry  a  man  she  doesn't 
like!" 

"But  that's  it !"  she  said,  starting  up  like  a  wild 
woman.  "That's  what's  so  crazy  about  the  whole 
thing." 

"What?" 

"What  she  says.  What  she's  doing.  The 
reason  she  gives  for  not  marrying  him !" 

"What  reason?" 

"Because  she  loves  him !" 

"Won't  marry  him,"  I  said,  "because  she  loves 
him?" 

"She's  mad,,  that's  all,"  said  her  mother. 
"She's  raving  crazy.  I  think  sometimes  I  am — or 
will  be  pretty  quick !"  she  cried  out,  starting  tear- 
ing at  the  reddened  shreds  of  her  handkerchief. 

I  quieted  her  down  finally ;  and  finally  told  her  I 
would  see  the  girl — if  she  wanted  to  call. 

I  sat  there,  after  she  had  restored  her  complex- 
ion and  straightened  her  hat  and  gone,  reflecting 
deeply  on  where  her  tortuous  path  was  taking  her 
— and  her  extraordinary  statement  concerning  the 
attitude  of  the  girl — her  alleged  refusal  to  marry 
the  man  she  loved  because  she  loved  him ! 


XV 


THE  girl  was  in  to  see  me  about  half-past 
three  or  four  o'clock  that  very  evening — 
dressed  up  again  in  one  of  the  gayest  of  her 
mortgaged  gowns. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me,  judge?"  she  asked,  me. 

Her  face  was  changed — her  whole  appearance. 
She  had,  it  looked  to  me,  more  go,  more  deter- 
mination to  her  than  I  had  ever  seen  in  her  before. 

"I  always  want  to  see  you,  Virginia,"  I  told  her. 
"You're  quite  a  pleasant  thing  to  look  at.  I  don't 
get  many  ornaments  like  you  in  this  old  dust  heap 
of  an  office." 

"Judge,"  she  told  me,  right  away,  apologizing 
with  her  voice,  "I  didn't  mean  to  be  impertinent, 
sir,  but  mother  did  say  you'd  like  to  see  me  if  I'd 
come  in." 

"I  would,  yes,  Virginia — if  you'd  like  to  see 
me." 

"I  always  want  to  do  that,  judge,"  she  told  me. 

"Sit  down,  daughter,"  I  told  her.  "Let's  have 
an  old-time  chat.  It  won't  do  either  one  of  us  any 
harm,  I  expect." 

She  sat  down  opposite  me,  in  that  light-coloured 

gown  with  big  flowers  on  it.     She  had  more  colour 
202 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  203 

in  her  face  than  I  ever  saw  her  have — partly  may- 
be from  the  rose  colour  that  the  under  part  of  the 
brim  of  her  great  hat  had  on  it. 

"I  thought  maybe  I  could  help  you  a  little,"  I 
said;  "but  I  might  be  mistaken.  If  I  could,  I'd 
like  to." 

"I  know  that,  judge,"  she  said.  "And  I  appre- 
ciate it,  and  I  want  you  to  know  I  do  too.  Go 
ahead,"  she  said — "whatever  you  want.  If  you 
want  to  say  anything,  or  ask  anything,  go  ahead, 
sir." 

"I'd  like  to  ask  you  one  or  two  things,"  I  told 
her,  "if  they're  not  of  too  personal  a  nature." 

"Go  ahead,  judge — just  as  far  as  you  want  to," 
she  said,  settling  herself  down  and  looking  at  me 
in  the  face. 

She  looked  different  to  me;  her  whole  way  of 
acting  was  different  from  that  cold,  impassive 
White  Shoulders  I  used  to  watch  sitting  round  at 
Mrs.  Tusset's.  It  was  a  change  for  the  better, 
that  was  certain. 

"I'm  starting  off  taking  you  at  your  word,"  I 
said. 

"Go  ahead." 

"Your  mother  told  me,"  I  said  then,  "that  you'd 
just  had  a  proposal  of  marriage — from  a  young 
friend  of  mine." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 


204  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

The  colour  in  her  face  now  wasn't  all  a  reflection 
from  that  rose-coloured  lining  in  her  hat.  But  she 
kept  her  eyes  right  up  to  mine. 

"And  you  refused  him." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  keeping  her  voice  and  eyes 
steady. 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,"  I  told  her,  looking  up  at 
her  suddenly.  "I  expect  it's  because  you  couldn't 
bring  yourself  to  fall  in  love  with  him?" 

Her  eyes  dropped  down  at  this  and  her  face  got 
redder  than  ever. 

"No,  sir,"  she  answered  me  in  a  low,  distinct 
voice.  "That  wasn't  it." 

"What  your  mother  said  can't  be  true,  can  it?" 
I  went  on  after  a  minute.  "It  can't  be  that  you 
love  him — like  she  said  you  did." 

"Judge,"  she  said  in  a  slow,  serious  voice,  look- 
ing up  again,  "if  you  want  the  truth — I  dp." 

"And  you  won't  marry  him — like  she  said." 

"No,  sir." 

"For  that  reason  she  gave.  Because  you  do 
love  him — or  so  she  says.  Is  that  correct?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered.  "That's  correct, 
judge." 

"You  love  him,"  I  said  over  again,  "and  you 
won't  marry  him — for  that  reason!  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  not,  ma'am?"     I  asked  her     "How  do 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  205 

you  reconcile  those  statements;  or  are  you  just 
plain  crazy?" 

"No,  sir,"  she  said  very  quietly.  "I'm  not 
crazy.  I  can't — that's  all.  You  wouldn't.  No 
one  could.  Why,  judge,  don't  you  see?" 

"See  what,  ma'am?"  I  asked  her. 

"Suppose,  judge,"  she  said,  "you  yourself  had 
the  best  friend  in  the  world — we'll  just  say! 
Would  you  ever  think  in  the  world,  judge,  of  swin- 
dling, of  cheating  him?" 

"Cheating  him?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Cheating  him  with  the  biggest  fraud 
in  the  whole  wide  world,  sir." 

"What  fraud's  that?  What  are  you  driving 
at?"  I  asked  her. 

"Is  there  any  bigger  fraud  or  harm  that  any- 
body could  put  on  anybody  else  than  a  swindle  and 
fraud  in  his  wife?  Is  there  anything  possible 
where  you  could  harm  anybody  so  much  as  that?" 

I  sat  stock-still,  looking  at  her. 

"Judge,"  she  said,  "I'm  a  swindle  from  top  to 
toe,  sir.  My  name,  the  very  clothes  on  my  back — 
everything  about  me.  I'm  just  a  swindle,  sir,  all 
over.  But  I'm  not  that  much  of  a  swindle,  sir. 
I  won't  swindle  the  person  I  love.  I'm  not  sunk 
that  low,  sir." 

"Look  here,  Virginia,"  I  started  out,  "that  ain't 
the  reasonable  common-sense  way  to  look " 


206  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Why  not?"  she  broke  in  on  me.  She  talked 
now  like  a  different  girl — sharp  and  quick  and 
alive.  That  was  it — like  a  girl  brought  to  life. 
"Why  not?"  she  had  to  know  from  me.  "The 
fact  is  you  are  the  one  that  wants  to  turn  round 
and  be  practical." 

"How  so?"  I  asked  her. 

"Isn't  it  certain  sure  almost — is  there  any  doubt 
in  the  world — that  it's  all  coming  out  now  in  a 
week  or  two  about  us — what-  we've  been?  Our 
money's  gone,  for  one  thing;  and  for  another,  I 
know — I'm  just  as  certain  as  I'm  sitting  here — 
that  all  those  folks  at  the  boarding  house  that 
are  peeking  round  and  trying  to  hunt  out  some- 
thing against  us — and  have  been  now  ever  since 
that  Victory  Day — are  just  getting  where  they're 
going  to  find  out.  In  not  longer  than  a  week  or 
two.  No,  sir.  In  not  longer  than  that  it's  got 
to  be  public  property  about  us." 

"Well,  suppose  it  is?"  I  said. 

"Supposing  it  is?"  she  said  back.  "What  kind 
of  a  wife  would  I  make  for  any  man?  What  kind 
of  a  feeling  would  he  have  for  me  then  when  he 
knew?  Especially  Cole  Hawkins!" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  I  told  her.  "Not 
about  Cole  Hawkins." 

"I  am,"  she  replied.  And  you  are.  And 
you  know  it.  There's  nothing  that  would  set  any- 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  207 

body  in  the  world  back  with  him  so  much  as  one 
thing — thinking  that  they  had  fooled,  swindled 
or  lied  to  him.  You  know  that  just  as  well  as  I 
do." 

"Look  here,"  I  said,  going  on  combating  her — 
trying  to.  "Do  you  think  that  Cole  Hawkins  is 
in  any  kind  of  position  to  criticize?  "Do  you 
think  Cole  Hawkins  has  been  better  than  you 
have?*' 

"No,  sir,"  she  told  me.  "I  think  he's  been  a 
thousand  times  worse  in  a  lot  of  ways.  He's  told 
me  practically  all  about  himself.  But  he's  never 
been  tricky  or  deceiving,  sir.  That  isn't  him." 

"Well,  then,"  I  argued,  "if  that's  the  way  you 
feel,  why  don't  you  do  this:  Why  don't  you  just 
do  as  he  did,  apparently — come  right  out 
straight  and  tell  him  your  story?  You  told  it 
all  to  me,"  I  said,  "didn't  you?" 

She  nodded,  looking  at  me. 

"It  didn't  strike  me  as  such  a  horrible  revelation 
of  sin,"  I  said,  smiling  at  her.  "And  I'm  willing 
to  guarantee  it  won't  him,  either." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked  me. 

"I  mean  for  you  to  go  to  him — like  he  did  to 
you,  evidently." 

"Go  to  him?"  she  said.  "And  tell  him  I  wanted 
to  explain  to  him — myself?  Judge,"  she  said, 
"it's  easy  to  see  you're  not  a  woman  by  just  the 


208  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

way  you  look  at  things.  No  woman — no  girl — • 
could  go  to  a  man  and  explain  about  herself  so's  a 
man  would  take  her.  And,  besides,  judge,"  she 
said,  sitting  up  straighter,  "I  wouldn't  marry 
him  anyhow — putting  that  all  one  side." 

"Why  not?"  I  said  to  her,  smiling  again — try- 
ing to.  "Is  this  because  you  love  him  too?  Be- 
cause you  don't  feel  you  are  good  enough  for  that 
wild  boy — Cole  HawkinS?" 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is.     That's  just  what  it  is." 

"What  have  you  done  compared  to  him,"  I  asked 
her — "ever?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what.  I'll  tell  you  why.  You  can 
say  what  you  want  to,  sir,  a  man's  different  from 
a  woman.  More  is  expected  of  her.  And  I  don't 
think  it's  bad  to  say  so.  It's  a  compliment  in  a 
kind  of  way — to  the  woman." 

She  sat  still  then  for  a  few  minutes ;  and  I  with 
her. 

"I've  thought  a  lot  about  that,  judge,  natur- 
ally," she  said,  "since  that  trial ;  and  I  know  I'm 
right.  A  real  wife  is  just  one  thing — she's  pure 
white  or  she's  nothing.  She  can't  be  a  little  dam- 
aged or  a  little  soiled.  She's  got  to  be  white 
clear  through — all  over — or  she's  just  nothing  at 
all.  And  it  don't  make  any  difference  either — if 
she  isn't  white — about  just  how  the  spots  got 
there.  They're  there  just  the  same.  You  never 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  209 

get  them  out.  Only  a  miracle  could,"  she  said, 
talking  slower  and  opening  and  clenching  her 
hands,  and  then  stopping  talking  entirely  for  a 
minute. 

"No,  sir.  No,  sir,"  she  said,  starting  up  from 
her  silence  again  after  a  little  bit.  "If  I  could 
cleanse  myself,  if  I  could  only  make  myself  dean — 
from  all  I've  been  through." 

"For  no  fault  of  yours — absolutely,"  I  said. 

"That  makes  no  difference,  judge.  It's  there. 
It's  there.  And  it  will  never  quite  come  off. 
Only  a  miracle  could  do  that,  sir.  And  miracles 
don't  happen  any  longer.  And  I  certainly  am  not 
going  to  bring  that  kind  of  a  wife  to  Cole  Hawkins. 
Let  alone  go  and  tell  him  about  it.  Explain  my- 
self. Go  through — that  torture,  judge — for 
nothing !" 

" You're  just  plain  crazy,  that's  all,"  I  told  her. 
"You're  just  a  crazy  young  fool.  Two  of  you,"  I 
said.  "I've  lived  some  years  and  I've  seen  some 
crazy  boys  and  girls  and  men  and  women  in  love ; 
but  I  never  saw  anything  crazier  or  more  ridic- 
ulous than  you  two. 

"First  him,"  I  said,  when  she  didn't  answer, 
"coming  in  here,  mooning  round,  talking  to  me, 
scared  to  death,  because  he  knows  he  isn't  fit  for 
you!" 

"Did  he  tell  you  that,  judge?"  she  said  in  a 
quick,  eager  voice. 


210  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  told  her,  "a  hundred  times. 
In  more  ways  than  speech.  And  now  you  come 
here  trying  to  tell  me  the  same  thing.  You  talk 
about  the  illusions  and  delusions  and  catalepsies 
of  youth !"  I  told  her,  arguing  my  case.  "Here's 
the  height  of  it.  You  can  imagine  how  it  looks  to 
a  person  of  my  age,  who's  witnessing  it.  Two 
crazy  young  fools  with  happiness  just  at  their 
finger  tips — for  the  grasping — and  backing 
and  refusing  and  shying  away.  Because,"  I  said, 
"they  love  each  other — too  much — to  marry!" 

"I  can't — that's  all,"  she  said,  after  a  minute 
or  so,  in  a  low  voice.  "It's  no  use  talking  now. 
That's  all  settled,  sir." 

"Tel!  me,"  I  asked,  thinking,  "just  what  did  you 
do  that  night — at  that  proposal  he  made  to  you — 
or  was  it  night?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  was  night.  We  were  out  driving 
together." 

"As  usual.     And  he  asked  you  to  marry  him?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Right  away,  I  expect.  That  would  be  about 
like  him.  He'd  want  to  tear  away  right  off  with 
you  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

"He  would  have  run  away,  right  there,  I  sup- 
pose," she  said,  "and  married  me — if  I'd  let  him." 

"He's  just  a  little  bit  impatient  by  nature,"  I 
told  her,  "in  some  ways !" 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  211 

"Yes,  sir,  he  is,"  she  said,  and  smiled — a  little 
small  fraction  of  a  smile. 

"And  you  refused  him?" 

"I  did— yes." 

"How  hard?  How  definitely?  How  final  was 
this  thing?"  I  asked  her.  "That's  what  I'm  aim- 
ing at." 

"It  was  pretty  mighty  final,  judge,"  she  said. 
"I  told  him  I  never  could  marry  him  under  any 
circumstances.  I  was  sorry.  I  liked  him  a  heap. 
But  I  couldn't  marry  him  ever.  And " 

"Arid  what  then?"  I  asked,  prompting  her. 

"And  when  he  insisted — on  knowing  why,  and 
all  that — I  told  him  I  expected  we'd  better  not  ride 
together  any  more.  I  thought  it  would  be  better 
all  round — if  we  stopped  seeing  each  other  at  all." 

"Seeing  each  other  at  all !"  I  repeated. 

Her  face  got  white  again  now — white  as  it  had 
always  been  before — and  then  red,  with  a  great 
flush  and  rush  of  red. 

"Oh,  judge,"  she  said  in  a  sudden  louder  voice, 
"can't  you  see?  The  only  thing  I  want  now  in 
the  whole  world,  sir?  Can't  you  help  me  to  get 
it — in  some  way?" 

"What?"  I  asked,  staring  at  her — that  look  in 
her  face. 

"To  get  away,  sir.  To  leave  town  right  away. 
Now!" 


212  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Where  would  you  go?"  I  asked  her.  "What 
would  you  do?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  she  said.  "That's  what  I 
thought  maybe  you  might  tell  me.  Isn't  there 
some  place,  sir,"  she  said,  "some  work  somewhere 
that  I  could  get  out  and  do?  Isn't  there,  sir? 
I'd  be  not  much  good,  sir,  at  first.  I  never  was, 
sir.  I  was  bred  and  reared  for  something  else — 
for  show.  But  I'd  work — I'd  work  my  fingers  to 
the  bone,  sir.  I'd  learn.  I  can  promise  you,  sir." 

"Why,  yes,"  I  told  her.  "I  expect — somewhere 
— I  would  know  somebody." 

"Could  you  get  me,  do  you  think,  to  some  great 
big1  city,  sir,  like  New  York  or  Chicago?" 

"Why,"  I  asked  her,  "such  a  large  order  to 
start  with?" 

"Only  this,"  she  said :  "There  wouldn't  be  any- 
body who  would  know  me  there.  I  could  start 
over — as  something  new." 

"You  want  to  go  and  bury  yourself,  deep  in 
several  million  folks,  so  you'll  never  be  seen?" 

"By  anybody  that  ever  knew  me." 

"Well,  it  might  be  done,  I  expect,"  I  said,  think- 
ing without  any  great  enthusiasm  about  her  alone 
in  a  city.  "But  there  are  a  number  of  things  to 
be  considered  first.  What  about  your  mother?" 

Her  hands  dropped  back  into  her  lap. 

"She  might  go  and  live  with  Robert  Lee  some- 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  213 

where — when     he     comes     out,"     he     suggested. 

She  sprang  up  suddenly  then,  her  eyes  dilated. 

"But  anyhow — no  matter  what,"  she  cried — 
"I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  I  won't!  She 
can't  expect  me  to  do  that  again.  I'll  do  any- 
thing— anything!  But  I  won't  stay  here  any 
longer — not  a  minute !"  she  said,  her  big  eyes  open- 
ing st.ill  more. 

"Why,"  I  asked  her,  "must  you  go  this  minute? 
Is  there  any  reason  that  you  know — that's  hew?" 

"It's  all  coming  out  now — any  time!"  she  said. 

"It  hasn't  yet,"  I  told  her. 

"Oh,  judge!"  she  said,  "can't  you  see?  Can't 
you  see  yet?  I  can't  stay  here.  I  can't  stay  here 
and  go  through — all  thait — degradation — and 
shame,  sir,  now !  Before  him !" 

She  broke  down  then — sat  down  again,  with  her 
big  fancy  hat  down  on  my  old  desk,  against  some 
sheepskin  statute  books. 

"Don't  take  on  so,  Virginia,"  I  said,  patting 
her  on  her  arm.  "Don't,  daughter,  it  ain't  nec- 
essary. And  it  won't  do  you  one  particle  of  good. 
You  let  me  think  it  over — till  tomorrow  or  the 
next  day.  You  come  here,  say,  the  day  after  to- 
morrow about  four  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
we'll  see." 

"You  see,  don't  you,  judge?"  she  told  me,  sit- 
ting up  finally.  "That's  one  thing.  I  can't  be 


2H  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

here  and  face  him — ever  see  him  again — after  he 
learns — about  everything!  How  I've  deceived 
him — all  about  my  following  him,  deceiving  him. 
I've  got  to  be  spared  that,  anyhow.  That  would 
be  worse  than  death,  a  heap." 

"Virginia,"  I  said,  when  she  straightened  her- 
self up  and  got  herself  together  again,  "I  want 
to  tell  you  something,  daughter.  You're  starting 
out  right,  girl.  You've  got  the  real  material 
right  there  in  you.  You're  making  too  much  of 
this,"  I  said.  "If  you  were  ten  times  worse  than 
you  are — if  you  were  as  bad  as  you  think  you  are 
even — you'd  be  a  splendid  fine  woman.  And  now, 
if  you  only  have  half  a  chance,  you'll  be  one  of  the 
finest  I  ever  knew.  And  I'm  going  to  see  you  have 
a  chance  some  day.  And  meanwhile  I'm  going  to 
say  now  to  you  I'm  proud  of  you  and  Fm  glad  to 
know  you  and  be  counted  among  your  friends,  and 
I*m  going  to  ask  you  to  shake  hands  on  that." 

She  flushed  up.  That  pleased  her,  I  could  see 
that. 

"I  expect,  considering  everything,  judge,"  she 
told  me,  "you're  entitled  to  more'n  that,  sir." 

And  she  came  right  over  to  me,  and  I  took  ad- 
vantage of  my  privilege — to  my  great  satisfaction. 

"Come  round  the  day  after  tomorrow  evening, 
I  told  her.  I'm  kind  of  busy  tomorrow,  but  by; 
that  time  I'll  try  and  work  out  some  way  to  help 
you.  Don't  you  fret.  We'll  fix  it  somehow." 


XVI 


WE  did  not  either  of  us  suspect,  natu- 
rally, at  that  time,  just  how  much  that 
next  two  days  was  destined  to  bring 
forth.  Though  now,  after  the  event,  of  course,  I 
look  back  upon  the  history  of  that  next  forty- 
eight  hours,  as  Sam  Barsam  would  say,  as  perhaps 
the  most  perfervid  period  in  my  autobiography. 

The  excitement  began  that  evening,  when  I  was 
down  in  my  office  after  dinner  and  along  about 
eight  o'clock  Cole  Hawkins  came  drifting  in.  I 
could  see  right  off  he  had  been  drinking  again. 

"H'lo,  judge,"  he  said,  flinging  himself  down 
into  a  chair. 

"Hello,  Cole,"  I  told  him. 

Then  he  sat  there  a  minute  or  so  without  speak- 
ing, looking  at  me  with  those  bold  black  eyes, 
under  his  heavy  black  eyebrows. 

"You  know  that  girl,"  he  asked  me  finally,  "up 
at  your  boarding  house  that  I've  been  going  round 
with  some  lately — Miss  Fairborn?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  said,  watching  him,  "I  expect  I 

do." 

215 


216  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

''She's  turned  me  down." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  I  said. 

"So'm  I,"  he  answered,  talking  brief,  the  way 
he  did  when  he  was  getting  drunk  and  ugly. 

"I  thought  maybe  she'd  take  you  and  make  a 
man  out  of  you,  Cole,"  I  told  him. 

"To  hell  with  me !"  he  said.  "I'm  nothing ;  and 
never  have  been.  And  she  did  just  right  to  push 
me  back.  I  ain't  fit  for  her  to  walk  on — and  never 
was.  But  there's  one  thing  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
about." 

"Fire  ahead,"  I  told  him. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  lately  that  she  and  her 
mother  were  going  to  leave  town  right  off?" 

"I  just  saw  her  mother  yesterday,"  I  told  him, 
lying  as  little  as  I  could,  "and  she  didn't  say  any- 
thing. I  should  say  she  was  figuring  on  staying — 
for  all  she  told  me." 

"Well,  they  ain't.  They're  going,  I  under- 
stand," he  told  me. 

"Is  that  so?"  I  answered.  "It  must  be  some- 
thing sudden." 

"It  is,"  he  said  right  off,  "or  that's  the  way  I 
get  it.  Now  look  here,  judge,"  he  said,  getting 
his  whiskey  breath  up  a  little  nearer  to  me ;  "now 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  something,  and  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  right.  For  I  believe  there's  some  special 
reason  for  this  thing — their  deciding  to  go  so  sud- 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  217 

den — if  that's  right.  You  know  how  that  crowd 
— that  cackling  hen  yard  in  the  front  parlour  of 
Mrs.  Tusset's — were  talking  and  squawking  about 
her  when  that  thing  happened — after  that  day  of 
the  Rose  Pageant." 

"I  do.     Yes." 

"Without  a  word  of  truth  or  substantiation 
about  any  part  of  it — except  that  they  made  up 
a  parcel  of  lies  and  told  them  till  they  believed 
them." 

"I  believe  you're  right  about  that,"  I  said. 

"I  know  I'm  right,  judge.  You  may  think  I'm 
a  fool  and  I'm  prejudiced  because  I  went  and  fell 
in  love  with  the  girl.  But  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  know  I'm  no  fool — if  I  do  act  that  way 
mostly.  I  don't  need  any  diagram  of  the  inside 
of  the  soul  of  a  girl,  or  a  man  either,  to  know  them. 
I  know  what  I'm  talking  with,  after  just  a  little — 
and  so  do  you ;  when  they're  real  and  when  they're 
just  shoddy.  And  there's  the  finest,  straightest- 
eyed  girl  you'll  meet  in  all  your  days.  I  ain't 
been  so  particular  in  my  company  with  women  as  I 
might  have  been,  maybe,  for  my  own  good.  But 
just  the  same  I  know  a  good  woman  and  respect 
her  when  I  meet  her  none  the  less  for  all  that — 
more,  I  expect!" 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  I  told  him. 

And  then  he  went  on — as  the  young  are  apt  to 


218  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

do — on  the  merits  of  their  particular  illusion  in 
the  way  of  women. 

"It  isn't  only  that,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  fooling 
myself.  After  all  the  talk  about  this  girl  at  first, 
naturally,  I  watched  her  and  I  tried  her  out.  You 
take  the  way  she  acts  when  you're  on  the  road — 
taking  a  chance  with  a  machine — up  against  some 
sharp  corner  in  driving — that's  where  you  can  tell 
real  folks,  when  they're  in  a  corner !  Not  a  squeal, 
not  a  whimper  out  of  her — when  the  rest  of  them 
would  be  squawking  their  fool  heads  off.  There's 
a  girl  that's  white  straight  through.  I  know  it. 
She  couldn't  trick  or  deceive  you  if  she  wanted  to. 
She  wouldn't  know  how." 

I  moved  just  a  little  at  that,  recalling,  naturally, 
what  the  girl  herself  had  been  saying  to  me  not 
four  hours  before  from  the  same  position — the 
same  chair — about  white  wives  and  deceiving  and 
herself. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said.  "There's  a  girl  some  fine 
man  will  get  sometime,  and  she'll  deserve  him. 
She's  had  a  lot  of  trouble  in  her  life,  judge,  that 
girl.  I  know  that — though  she  never  would  tell 
me  what  it  was.  She  wouldn't.  She  isn't  the  kind 
that  would  holler.  But  that  mother  of  hers  is 
concerned  in  it — any  fool  can  see  that — what  she's 
tried  to  do  with  her.  Ain't  she  the  devil — that 
woman  ?" 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  219 

"The  illusions  of  one  generation  always  look  a 
little  odd  to  the  next  one,"  I  told  him,  "especially 
its  styles  it  likes  its  women  served  in." 

"You're  probably  right,  judge,"  he  told  me, 
giving  me  a  stare,  "though  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean." 

"All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  look  at  the  fashion 
plates  and  read  the  talk  of  the  women  in  the  novels 
of  the  time  of  the  Civil  War  and  after,"  I  said, 
"to  see — when  your  mother  and  aunts  were  at  the 
height  of  their  illusions.  The  women  of  one  gen- 
eration are  queer  sights  to  the  next  one.  I  don't 
know  anything  that  styles  change  quicker  in  than 
women — not  only  their  clothes  but  themselves — the 
kind  of  soul  it's  fashionable  for  a  woman  to  have." 

"You're  probably  right,  judge,"  he  said,  giving1 
me  that  fixed,  indifferent  stare  under  his  black  hair 
and  eyebrows.  "I  never  was  great  on  speculating 
on  such  things.  I  ain't  got  the  head  to,  I  reckon." 

"All  I  wanted  to  say  was,"  I  told  him,  "that 
the  mother  is  very  likely  acting  according  to  her 
lights — even  if  you  and  I  don't  fancy  them." 

"Let  it  go  at  that,"  he  said.  "But  here,  what 
I  want  to  ask  tonight — I'm  trying  to  find  out  just 
what's  behind  their  getting  out  of  town  so  sudden 
and  unexpected — if  that  story's  true.  It  might 
be  there  was  some  new  lying  scandal  from  that 
crowd  up  at  your  place.  Those  educated  hens  and 


220  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

that  king  of  the  hen  yard — that  Cupid  Calvert. 
I  wanted  to  find  that  out.  Because  if  there  is," 
he  said,  "lemme  tell  you  something,  judge: 
There's  going  to  be  some  fireworks  start — some 
doings  they'll  want  to  put  in  when  they're  writing 
up  the  town  history." 

"Let  me  tell  you  something  now,"  I  said.  "I 
don't  know  anything  about  what  you  claim  here. 
My  belief  is  that  there's  nothing  new  of  that  kind. 
If  there  is  I  haven't  heard  it.  You're  getting 
suspicious,  the  way  you're  apt  to  when  you're  like 
this — when  you're  drinking.  I  tell  you  now,  son, 
straight,"  I  said  to  him,  "I'm  sorry  to  see  it. 
You  haven't  been  like  this  for  weeks.  And  if  this 
girl  has  had  something  to  do  with  pulling  you  up — 
as  I  more  than  suspect  she  has — I'm  twice  sorry 
that  she's  through  with  you." 

"To  hell  with  me!"  he  said.  "What  do  I 
amount  to?  I'm  just  a  discard — all  round!" 

And  he  went  out  after  that — with  his  hat  pulled 
down  low  over  his  ugly  eyes. 

The  next  development  in  that  somewhat  mem- 
orable forty-eight  hours  came  that  next  morning. 
I  was  surprised  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  to  see 
Cupid  Calvert  coming  in  my  office  door.  I  knew 
then  there  must  be  some  pressing  news  to 
communicate. 

"I  was  just  passing  by,  judge,"  he  told  me,  "and 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  221 

I  thought  I'd  run  in  and  tell  you  something  new — 
something  real  rich  and  riotous." 

"What's  that?" 

"Eureka,  judge!"  he  said,  taking  out  a  large 
blue  strong-smelling  letter  from  his  pocket  and 
waving  it.  "Eureka — which  is  the  French  for 
follow  little  Cupid  and  see  1" 

"See  what?" 

"You  know  the  dope  we've  all  been  looking  for?" 

"Which?"  I  asked  him. 

"About  Snowy  Shoulders  and  the  Cockatoo." 

I  didn't  say  a  word.     But  I  didn't  have  to. 

"I've  got  it  right  here.     It's  a  screamer,  judge." 

"Where'd  you  get  it?  Where'd  you  run  it 
down  finally?"  I  asked,  studying  him. 

"There's  a  girl  I  met  here — going  through  in 
an  opera  company,"  he  informed  me.  "She  lived 
in  St.  Louis,  I  remembered,"  he  said,  waving  his 
letter. 

"I  might  have  known,"  I  said.  "My  nose  might 
have  told  me.  It  smells  like  somebody  had  opened 
a  bottle  of  cologne  water  in  here." 

"It's  a  frantic  tale,  judge,"  he  said.  "You'll 
enjoy  hearing  it." 

And  he  went  on  and  gave  me  the  outline  of  the 
situation  in  St.  Louis — the  relation  of  the  women 
to  that  Gluber,  the  dress  salesman. 

"You  know  what  they  are,"  he  said,  "if  you  go 


222  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

into  a  certain  class  of  life  in  a  big  city.  Those 
fellows  like  that  d'o  business  with  flashy  shopgirls 
and  theatrical  folks  and  mechanics'  wives — and 
some  others  we  won't  mention.  Especially  some 
others." 

"Women  that  have  got  more  ambition  to  show 
themselves  off  than  they  have  sense,"  I  said. 

"Right,  judge.  He  sells  them  flashy  stuff  at 
three  and.  four  profits  and  trusts  to  his  wits  and 
his  system  for  getting  it  all  in.  They've  got  a 
great  system,  fellows  like  that.  He  has." 

"A  system?"  I  repeated. 

"No  set  thing,  only  holds  of  different  kinds  that 
he's  got  on  the  different  kinds  of  women." 

"Blackmail,"  I  said,  "for  instance." 

"Yes.  Fear — of  one  thing  or  another.  That 
somebody  else  will  get  to  know  something  about 
them  or  what  they've  done — or  just  the  fact  that 
they're  spending  money.  He  scares  women — 
that's  his  business — till  they  pay  him.  He  has 
been  at  it  for  years.  He's  got  them  down  cold — 
all  kinds.  He  has  had  them  by  the  thousands — 
he  runs  a  little  women's  hell  of  his  own,  with 
branches  in  half  a  dozen  cities.  A  nice  profitable 
little  women's  hell.  And  he's  the  king  of  it.  And 
they  all  shake  and  whimper  when  he  gets  after 
them." 

"I  wish  we  had  had  him  down  here,"  I  told  him, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  223 

" j  ust  after  the  old  war,  when  we  got  loose  and  well 
fixed  to  deal  with  that  kind  of  cattle  for  ourselves. 
But  look  here,"  I  said,  trying  him  out  to  see, 
"what  else  is  there  in  this?  Did  you  get  any  in- 
formation about  what  hold  it  was — just — that  this 
sweet-faced,  sweet-minded  dressmaker  had  on  these 
two?" 

"You  mean  that  anonymous  letter — 'that  Pit- 
man murder  thing?" 

"Yes." 

"No,  sir,  I  haven't,  judge,"  he  told  me. 
"That's  coming  later.  Our  eminent  detective 
force  19  working  on  that  now,  sir." 

"I  see.  I  understand,"  I  told  him.  "And  now 
you've  acquainted  me  with  that  fact,  let  me  tell  you 
something — give  you  some  advice — that  may  or 
may  not  be  of  some  use  to  you.  But  it'll  come 
cheap.  It  won't  cost  you  anything." 

"What's  that?" 

"If  I  was  you,"  I  told  him,  "I  don't  believe  I'd 
go  peddling  round  that  news  much." 

"Why  not?" 

"Not  so's  it  might  get  back  to  Cole  Hawkins, 
anyway." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  with  a  big  gleaming  grin  on  his 
round  face,  "now  you  mention  that,  judge,  I've 
got  some  more  news  for  you.  That's  off,  I  believe. 
I  believe  there's  some  row  between  those  two !" 


224  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"You  don't  mean  it  ?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  sir,  judge,"  he  informed  me.  "The  Night 
Riders  seem  to  have  split  up  and  gone  out  of  busi- 
ness. The  last  night  or  two  Snowy  Shoulders  has 
been  staying  at  home  and  Cole  Hawkins  has  been 
out  tearing  round  alone.  You  heard  about  last 
night?" 

"No." 

"He's  been  drinking  again.  He  was  out  till 
midnight  in  that  Child  of  Hell,  raging  up  and 
down  the  road.  Starting  his  old  game — wiping 
the  mud  guards  off  the  road  hogs — or  the  ones  he 
claims  are  lying  over  too  much  on  the  other  man's 
side  of  the  road." 

"They  don't  on  his  much,  I  expect." 

"No.  But  he  disciplines  them  for  the  others. 
You  know  how — and  how  as  good  a  driver  as  he  is 
can  manage  to  put  the  other  fellow  in  wrong. 
He'll  kill  somebody  some  day  before  he's  through." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I'm  afraid  so  myself.  But  let 
me  tell  you  something  more.  He  may  be  off  with 
that  girl — like  you  say — but  I'd  still  be  a  little 
cautious  and  conservative  about  having  any 
remarks  about  her  or  her  affairs  get  back  to  him 
as  starting  and  originating  from  me  personally,  if 
I  was  in  your  place.  I  may  be  wrong.  I'm  just 
telling  you  how  I'd  feel  myself." 

"Don't  you  worry,  judge,"  said  Cupid. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  225 

"You  know  what  he  is,"  I  warned  him,  "when 
he's  like  this.  What  he's  done  two  or  three  times 
already  in  this  town — when  he  took  a  fancy 
against  one  or  two." 

"He's  a  murderer,  that's  what  he  is,"  said 
Calvert.  "Somebody  ought  to  put  him  back  of 
the  bars." 

"I  was  just  telling  you,"  I  said  to  him. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something  too,  judge," 
Calvert  told  me.  "I  wasn't  born  yesterday." 

He  went  on  then,  out  to  other  places.  I  could 
imagine  just  about  how  long  what  I'd  said  would 
keep  him  from  circulating  his  new  information, 
especially  among  the  whispering  women  at  the 
boarding  house. 

It  was  night  again,  the  next  night,  when  the 
next  step  came.  I  was  in  my  office  reading  again 
when  this  man  I  knew  came  rushing  in. 

"You  know  what's  happened  tonight,  judge?" 
he  asked  me,  all  out  of  breath. 

"No,  sir.     What  has?"  I  said,  looking  up. 

"You  know  about  Cole  Hawkins — how  he's  been 
drinking  again  the  last  few  days." 

"I  heard  so,  sir.     Yes,  sir." 

"He's  out  tonight  hunting  young  Cupid  Cal- 
vert— swearing  he's  going  to  kill  him  on  sight." 

I  got  up  on  my  feet.  "You  don't  mean  that?" 
I  said,  sitting  back  again. 


226  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"I  do,  judge.  I  mean  just  that.  And  you 
know  what  that  signifies — when  he  gets  that  way  1" 

"I  can  reason  it  out,"  I  said.  "But  what's  the 
matter?"  I  asked  him,  to  see  what  he  knew — what 
had  come  out  so  far. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Nobody  seems  to 
know.  Only  some  claim  it's  got  something  to  do 
with  that  girl  up  at  your  boarding  house — that 
Fairborn  girl,  who  made  such  a  breakdown  at  the 
last  Rose  Pageant." 

"Where's  Calvert?"  I  asked  him.  "What  are 
they  doing  about  him?" 

"They've  got  him  out  of  the  way,  judge — for  to- 
night'" 

"That's  good,"  I  said. 

"Look  here,  judge,"  he  said  to  me  then.  "We 
can't  have  this  thing  going  on  in  this  town — a 
shooting,  like  way  back,  years  ago." 

"No.  sir,"  I  said.     "I  don't  say  we  can  myself." 

"And  you're  the  man  to  stop  it,"  he  told  me. 
"You've  got   to   go   to   Cole  and  hold   him   off. 
You're  the  only  man  in  the  county  that's  got  any 
influence  with  him." 

"I'll  go,  I  expeict,"  I  said,  "and  see  what  I  can 
do,  anyway." 

So  I  got  my  hat  and  went  out. 


XVII 


1  WALKED  over  to  the  hotel  where  Cole  Haw- 
kins was  boarding  then  and  asked  for  him. 
"He  just  went  out,  judge,"  said  the  clerk. 
"I  expect  you'll  find  him  over  at  the  garage.  He 
just  started  over  there  in  that  direction,  sir." 

They  all  stopped  their  talking.  I  could  feel 
their  eyes  on  my  back,  looking  at  me,  when  I  went 
out. 

So  I  went  over  to  the  garage  and  found  Cole 
just  climbing  into  the  long  low  red  Child  of  Hell. 

"Take  me  in  that  thing,"  I  told  him,  "and  drive 
me  over  to  my  office.  I've  got  something  I  want 
to  talk  over  with  you." 

He  looked  up  at  me  under  those  black  eyebrows 
without  answering.  But  he  went. 

"All   right.     Climb  in,"  he  said. 

And  we  went  snorting  and  barking  over  to  my 
office — in  about  ten  snorts. 

"Now  then,"  I  said,  when  I  had  him  upstairs 
and  sitting  down  by  my  desk  again,  "just  what 
is  it  you're  trying  to  do  now?" 

"Do — what?"  he  said,  giving  me  an  ugly  look. 
227 


228  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  I  told  him. 

"Maybe  I  do — and  maybe  I  don't !"  he  answered 
back,  still  holding  me  off,  looking  black. 

"Is  it  true,"  I  asked  him  straight  then — "what 
they're  telling  round  town — that  you're  out  hunt- 
ing young  Calvert  with  a  gun?" 

"S'pose  I  was — what  of  it?" 

"Why?     What's  the  object?" 

"You've  got  your  nerve  with  you!"  he  said  to 
me.  I  could  smell  his  breath  clear  across  the  desk. 

"Why?"  I  went  on  asking  him.  "What  do  you 
want  to  kill  him  for?" 

"He's  lived  long  enough — that's  one  reason,"  he 
said.  "And  a  good  enough  one  too — for  most 
people !" 

I  saw  I  had  him  started. 

"I've  been  looking  for  that  fat  yelping  poodle 
dog  for  some  time,"  he  told  me  then,  "if  you  want 
to  know." 

"Look  here,  Cole,"  I  said  to  him.  "This  ain't 
Mexico.  Folks  ain't  going  round  the  streets  of 
Carthage  any  longer  shooting  each  other  full  of 
lead  because  they  don't  like  the  colour  of  each 
other's  hair.  What's  going  on  here,  anyhow?" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,"  he  said,  loosening  up 
a  little  bit  more.  "Or  if  you  don't  you  will  before 
long.  But  I  ain't  talking  about  that,  either  1"  he 
said,  stopping. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  229 

"What  is  it,  Cole  ?"  I  asked  him.  "Come  on  now 
— "tell  me.  I  want  to  know — and  you've  got  a 
right  to  tell  me." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he  said  then  finally, 
staring  back  into  my  eyes,  "if  you've  got  to  know ! 
For  your  own  information,  strictly!  You  know 
what  I  was  telling  you  about  that  other  evening, 
about  wanting  to  find  out  whether  there  were  any 
more  false  scandals  started  about  that  person  I 
was  speaking  to  you  of?" 

"Yes." 

"Well — I've  found  out,  that's  all.  There  were. 
And  it's  that  thing— Calvert  1" 

"Calvert!"  I  said  after  him. 

"Yes,  sir.  You  know  how  he  is — how  he's  been 
in  this  town  for  years — laughing  and  sneering  and 
lying  about  folks  that  he  didn't  fancy  or  had 
turned  him  down — or  he  just  thought  would  make 
good  targets  to  aim  his  funny  thoughts  at — or 
start  some  scandal  about." 

I  nodded,  with  my  eye  on  him. 

"Well,  he's  done  his  last  slandering  of  women 
round  this  place,  that's  all !" 

"How  so?" 

"Well,  this  time  he's  done  it  once  too  often. 
He's  been  round  town  here  lately  peddling  a  lot  of 
lies  about  this  girl  I'm  talking  to  you  about — 
shaming  them  out  of  town.  And  nobody's  had 


230  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

the  manhood  to  come  out  and  tear  his  lying  in- 
sides  out  of  him.  But  this  is  the  time  he's  going 
to  be  come  up  with.  I'm  after  him  this  time,"  he 
said,  and  stopped,  holding  his  dangerous  black 
eyes  into  mine.  "And  I've  sent  word  to  him  so." 

"You  mean  to  teh1  me "  I  started  saying. 

"I've  got  the  same  compassion  fop  him,"  he  said, 
"as  for  a  isick  toad.  He's  driving  them  out 
of  town — 'trying  to,"  he  said.  "But  he's  going 
out — on  a  damned  sight  longer  journey.  They've 
got  him  hid  away  somewhere  now — in  some  stink- 
ing hole.  But  I  ain't  worried.  I'll  catch  up 
with  him  before  I'm  through.  And  when  I  do  he's 
going  out  on  that  long  journey  I  was  telling  you 
about — to  a  damned  sight  warmer  country.  And 
if  I  go  with  him — so  much  the  better.  I'm  getting 
generally  sick  hanging  round  this  world,  being  in 
the  way  of  others — never  making  good!  Maybe 
they'll  'find  some  more  use  for  me  in  hell." 

"Cole,"  I  told  him,  "you're  a  fool." 

"Maybe  I  am,  judge,"  he  told  me,  very  cool  and 
calm  and  ugly,  "but  nobody  can  say  I  don't  do 
what  I  say  I  will." 

"You've  been  drinking  again." 

"Maybe  I  have." 

"I  thought  you'd  straightened  out,"  1  said, 
"and  done  away  with  the  drinking — since  you'd 
been  with  that  girl." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  231 

"I  did,  judge — while  I  Was  with  her.  I  would 
now,  if  I  still  was,  I  expect.  But  that  ain't  any 
business " 

"Don't  you  know,"  I  broke  in  on  him,  "that 
anything  like  this  isn't  going  to  help  the  girl  any 
— what  you  are  doing  now?" 

"What  I  know  is  this,"  he  told  me — "just  this: 
I'm  through.  I  understand  that.  I  may  never 
speak  to  her  again.  But  just  the  same,  nobody's! 
going  round  circulating  low-down  lying  scandals 
about  her — and  live." 

"What  were  the  scandals?"  I  asked  him. 

"I  don't  know.  Some  lie  about  her  and  her 
mother  coming  on  here  from  the  slums  of  St.  Louis 
— backed  by  that  cheap  crooked  dressmaker.  I 
don't  know — some  lie  on  the  face  of  it — to  any- 
body that  knows  the  girl  and  ever  talked  with 
her." 

"Well,  if  it's  a  lie,"  I  said,  shivering  inside  to 
see  how  the  thing  was  going,  "it'll  kill  itself.  It 
will " 

"That's  the  trouble,"  he  broke  in  on  me.  "It's 
a  damned  plausible  lie  some  ways,  like  everything 
else  he  gets  up.  That's  the  worst  of  it.  Now  is 
that  all?"  he  said,  getting  to  his  feet. 

"Look  a  here,"  I  said,  trying  to  keep  him  there. 
But  he  wouldn't  be  kept. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  repeated. 


282  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"You're  making  a  mistake  all  round,  Cole.  Sit 
down  again,"  I  begged  of  him. 

"No.  I  ain't  just  in  a  real  talkative  mood  to- 
night," he  told  me,  and  went  out  the  door. 

I  sat  there  thinking  long  after  I  heard  him  and 
his  Child  of  Hell  go  roaring  and  barking  up  the 
street,  patrolling  round,  maybe,  for  a  sight  of 
Calvert.  I  was  thinking  of  it  a  good  part  of  the 
night — there  in  my  office  and  in  my  bedroom. 
I  couldn't  appear  to  work  it  out.  If  I  couldn't 
influence  and  hold  him  back,  I  didn't  know  who 
could — unless  perhaps  one  person — who  wouldn't 
naturally  be  available !  And,  moreover,  I  couldn't 
very  well  go  to  anybody  else  anyhow — with  what 
I'd  got  in  confidence. 

It  looked  bad  to  me.  It  did  the  next  morning. 
It  was  all  over  town  now — about  the  two  men — 
though  the  girl's  name  wasn't  in  it  so  very  much 
yet.  Calvert  was  hid  away  still  somewhere,  they 
said.  He  was  away  from  the  boarding  house, 
I  knew  that.  Hawkins  was  still  drunk,  racing 
down  the  road. 

"He  almost  got  another  car  last  night,"  a  man 
called  me  up  to  say  on  the  telephone.  "Some- 
thing's got  to  be  done  about  him — that's  certain 
sure." 

And  not  two  minutes  afterward  the  phone  rang 
again,  and  I  heard  a  woman's  voice — quick  and 
sharp  and  breathless — on  the  wire. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  233 

"Heilo,  judge." 

"Hello." 

"This  is  Virginia." 

"Why,  hello,  Virginia.  Hello,  girl.  Ain't  you 
up  kind  of  early  this  morning?" 

"Judge,"  she  said,  not  answering  me,  "I  want 
to  come  down  to  your  office — right  now !  Are  you 
alone?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.     "Come  right  down." 

I  suspicioned  from  her  voice  what  it  might  be. 

She  was  white  when  she  came  in  ;  more  than  ever 
the  girl  of  ivory  they  first  talked  about. 

"Judge,"  she  said,  not  sitting  down,  "is  it  true? 
Is  it  true,  sir — that  Cole  Hawkins  is  hunting  to 
kill  that  Calvert?" 

I  didn't  answer. 

"For  what  he  said  about  me?" 

"Sit  down  first,"  I  told  her,  "and  tell  me  what 
you're  driving  at,  and  then  maybe  111  answer  your 
question." 

She  sat  down  and  told  me.  That  white-livered, 
yellow-haired  Calvert  had  sent  word  to  her — to 
save  his  honery  mean  skin. 

"What  did  he  want  you  to  do?"  I  asked  her. 
"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  he  knew — if  I  went  to  him — to  Cole — 
and  told  him  to  stop — to  tell  him  that  he  knew  that 
he  was  wrong " 


234  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Calvert  knew,  you  mean?" 

"Yes.  And  would  apologize — to  me,  or  any- 
body— why,  then,  he  knew,  judge,  that  would  fix 
it  with  Cole — for  everybody.  For  me  and  my 
reputation !" 

"Your  reputation!"  I  said.  "The  low-down 
hound  1" 

"Ye&,  sir." 

"But  it  wouldn't.  It  wouldn't  fix  it— with  Cole 
Hawkins  or  yourgreputation  either — if  he  apol- 
ogized a  million  times.  I  don't  believe  you  can 
hold  Cole  off  him  now." 

She  was  almost  whispering  when  she  answered 
me. 

"I  could  stop  him,  judge,"  she  said — "in  one 
way  1" 

"What  way?" 

"I  could  go  and  cell  him — he  couldn't  blame 
Calvert,"  she  said,  talking  even  lower. 

"Couldn't  blame  him !"  I  broke  in. 

"Because — what  he  told — was  the  truth !" 

I  sat  and  stared  at  her. 

She  straightened  up  a  little  and  talked  louder 
then.  "That  would  fix  it,  judge,"  she  said. 

"The  truth!"  I  answered  her.  "You  don't 
know  what  Calvert's  said.  You  don't  know  it  is 
the  truth.  It  probably  ain't." 

"It's  near  enough,  judge,"  she  told  me,  with  that 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  235 

old  hopeless  tone  she  used  to  have  at  first  coming 
back  into  her  voice,  "so  he  won't  be  killing  anybody 
— on  my  account — any  more !" 

"Virginia.  Girl,"  I  said.  "I  won't  sftand  for 
it.  I  won't  stand  for  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
won't  allow  you." 

"You  can't  help  yourself,  I  expect,"  she  told  me. 

"No.  You  can't  go  to  him — not  the  way  it  is 
with  you  two,"  I  told  her.  "I'd  go  myself  first — 
if  that  was  the  thing  to  be  done  1" 

"What  good  would  that  do,  sir?"  she  asked  me. 
"He  wouldn't  believe  you,  you  know  that — even  if 
you  did  tell  him  what  I've  been.  He'd  only  want 
to  kill  you,  probably — add  you  to  Calvert!  No, 
sir,"  she  said.  "There's  just  one  way — and  one 
person.  I've  got  to  do  it." 

"That's  no  such  thing,"  I  said.  "You  know 
yourself  what  you  said  about  it — about  how  that 
was  the  only  thing  left  for  you  now — not  to  tell 
him  or  see  him  even,  after  he  knew.  That  it  would 
kill  you  even  to  stay  and  look  him  in  the  face — 
after  he  heard  about  you.  And  now  you're  pro- 
posing to  go  yourself  and " 

"Don't  make  it  any  harder,  judge,"  she  told  me, 
"than  it  has  to  be  for  me.  For  it's  going  to  be 
done." 

"Not  for  that  cur,  Calvert,"  I  said. 

"No,  sir.     No,  sir,"  she  said,  very  slow  and 


236  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

quiet.     "Not  for  him — or  for  myself  either." 

"No,"  I  said.  "No!  Cole  Hawkins'  ain't 
worth  that,  either." 

"Yes  he  is,  judge,"  she  said.  "He  is — to  me! 
Let  alone  what  he  is  to  me — now.  He  cared  for 
me — he  was  kind  to  me — not  to  my  looks,  my  body. 
To  me !  The  only  man  I  ever  knew — I  think.  He 
always  did  all  kinds  of  things  for  me — that  first 
time,  when  I  was  in  trouble.  Oh,  I  know — how  it 
all  started. 

"Do  you  think  after  that,"  she  went  on  after 
awhile — "after  all  he's  been  to  me — that  I'm  just 
going  to  run  away  and  let  him  get  into  any  bad 
trouble  like  this  for  me  now?  No,  sir.  Never!" 

"Virginia,"  I  said,  getting  to  my  feet,  "stand  up 
here.  I  want  to  tell  you,  ma'am,  right  here  and 
now,  you're  the  finest  woman  God  ever  made, 
Girl.  And  I'm  proud  to  know  you.  And  I'd 
like  nothing  better  than  to  think  you  were  my 
daughter.  I  believe,  as  it  is,  I'll  adopt  you!" 

"I  wish  you  would,  judge — sometimes !"  she  said, 
coming  over  toward  me. 

"I  will,"  I  said  to  her.     "Right  now!" 

And  she  looked  up  after  awhile  from  where  I  had 
my  arm  about  her  and  said:  "After  this,  judge 
— 'after  I  get  this  done — can  I  go,  sir,  then  ?  Will 
you  help  me  off  to  some  big  place — where  I  can 
just  hide  and  hide  and  hide  myself — forever?" 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  237 

"From  everybody  but  me,  you  can,"  I  told  her, 
comforting  her. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  after  awhile  more,  and  stood 
back  again  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  I  asked  her. 

"Just  to  the  telephone,"  she  said.     "That's  all." 


xvin 

I  WOULDN'T  be  much  surprised  if  she  had 
used  that  telephone  number  before.  Anyhow 
she  hit  the  right  place  at  the  right  time  to  find 
the  man  she  was  calling  for.  I  stood  there  star- 
ing, listening  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

She  told  him  who  it  was. 

"Who  ?"  came  back  his  voice  on  the  receiver. 

I  could  hear  it  speaking  out  half  across  the 
room.  Eager  and  quick — like  a  boy's  voice 
should  be. 

"Virginia,"  she  said  again.  "I  want  to  ask 
you  a  favour." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  take  me  riding  again 
— if  I  asked  you  ?" 

"Would  I  be  willing?"  the  voice  in  the  receiver 
came  back — the  instrument  blurring  from  its  loud- 
ness.  "When?" 

"Could  you  tonight?" 

"Could  I  tonight?     No.     Not  a  bit!     When?" 

"The— the  same  time." 

"Right.     Right,"  came  the  loud  surprised  voice 
238 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  239 

again.  "That  is,  if  that's  the  earliest  time  there 
is." 

"That  will  be  the  earliest — the  best,  anyway,  I 
expect,"  she  said,  and  closed  him  off  with  a  short 
laugh. 

She  came  over  to  me  with  a  very  red  face.  "It 
will  be  easier  when  I  get  started,  I  expect,  judge  1" 
she  said — to  s*ay  something,  apparently! 

"You're  not  going  to  do  that,"  I  told  her. 

"What?" 

"You're  not  going  out  riding  with  Cole  Hawkins 
— today,  tonight  or  any  other  time!  You 
know  the  way  he's  been  lately.  You  must  know — 
from  Calvert,  probably — how  he's  been  drinking." 

"He  won't  be  drinking,  judge,"  she  told  me, 
smiling  a  small  confident  little  smile.  "He  never 
has  been — not  when  he  was  driving  out  with  me." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that — nor  how  much 
better  off  he  would  be  if  he  did  get  sober,  after 
the  last  two  or  three  days.  Why  don't  you  see 
him  some  other  way — if  you've  got  to  see  him — 
instead  of  taking  the  chances  of  being  all  splin- 
tered up  by  that  wild  devil  in  that  car?" 

"There  are  quite  a  few  reasons,  judge,"  she  told 
me. 

"What,  for  instance?" 

"Well,  we  always  have  been  together  that  way." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  waiting. 


240  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"It's  about  the  only  place  we  could  be  alone  so 
well !"  she  told  me  then. 

"There  are  other  places  to  be  found,  I  believe, 
in  the  civilized  world  as  now  known  to  man,"  I 
answered  her. 

But  she  would'nt  listen  to  me. 

"What  is  the  real  reason,"  I  said,  "that  you 
want  to  go  out  with  him  in  that  machine — and  get 
killed?" 

"It  would  be  easier,  judge,"  she  said  finally,  "if 
you  have  to  know,  for  me !" 

"Easier?" 

"I  can  talk  to  him,"  she  said.  "Tell  him  what 
I've  got  to — just  as  well,  anyhow,  when  he's 
occupied  driving — a  little.  It  will  be  bad  enough 
without  his  eyes  all  the  time  on  my  face." 

"Oh,"  I  said. 

"There'll  be  no  danger.  You'll  see,"  she  told 
me. 

I  wasn't  so  sure  myself.  I  sat  there  an  hour  or 
so  after  she  had  gone,  thinking  it  over,  considering 
what  it  was  right  for  me  to  do  under  the 
circumstances. 

Finally  I  called  Cole  up  on  the  telephone  myself. 

"Look  a  here,  Cole,"  I  said  when  I'd  got  him, 
"you  know  who's  talking,  I  expect." 

"Yes,"  he  said.  His  voice  was  still  hoarse  from 
his  drinking. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  241 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "Now  you  listen  to  me,  for 
Fve  got  some  right  important  advice  to  give  you." 

He  gave  a  kind  of  grunt  over  the  wire,  thinking, 
I  expect,  that  I  was  interfering  in  his  business 
again. 

"Fve  been  brought  in  through  special  reasons — 
not  specially  of  my  own  choosing — into  your 
affairs,"  I  said.  "And  I  expect  very  likely  you 
don't  care  for  it.  But  as  I  happen  to  know  some 
things  I  want  to  tell  you  about  them." 

"Fire  ahead,"  he  said,  brief  and'  curt. 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  something,  Cole,"  I  said 
then.  "You're  going  out  riding  tonight  with  the 
finest  lady  in  this  land.  There  never  was  a  finer 
one  that  ever  stepped  on  God's  green  earth,  sir. 
And  I  want  you  to  do  what  you  should,  do  under 
the  circumstances;  straighten  up  and  tidy  up 
before  that  time — so  you  can  take  her  out 
right." 

I  could  hear  him  grunt  again  over  the  wire — as 
if  he  was  getting  mad.  But  I  went  right  on 
regardless. 

"Now  wait,"  I  told  him.  "That  ain't  all! 
This  young  woman — this  lady  I'm  talking  to 
you  about — is  about  to  do  a  thing  for  you,  sir, 
that's  the  hardest  any  woman  can  do  for  any  man, 
sir.  She's  going  to  lower  and  humble  and  bow  her- 
self in  the  dust — and  she's  going  to  do  it  for  you, 


242  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

sir,  and  not  for  anybody  else  in  this  world!" 

He  didn't  break  in  any  more  with  any  more 
grunts,  I  noticed.  I  had  him  listening. 

"Moreover,"  I  went  on,  "I'm  not  at  liberty  to 
tell  you  what  she'll  say  to  you,  but  I  want  to  say 
this  to  you — that  when  you  hear  it  and  understand 
it,  you'll  say — if  you're  half  the  man  I  think  you 
are — that  what  she  tells  you  is  a  hundred  times 
to  her  credit  where  it's  once  to  her  detriment. 
And  if  you  don't  understand  it — when  she  gets 
through — you  come  to  me  and  I'll  explain  it  all 
to  you." 

He  didn't  say  anything  to  that,  either. 

"And  more  than  that,  sir,"  I  said — "and  this 
is  the  last  I'm  going  to  tell  you — I'm  going  to 
break  confidence  also  to  this  extent.  This  girl 
is  going  to  do  all  this — as  you'll  understand,  if 
you  are  half  bright — for  just  one  reason.  Be- 
cause she  loves  you.  She'll  say  she  doesn't — she'll 
deny  it.  She's  got  a  crazy  idea  that  she  shouldn't 
ever  marry  you.  She'll  try  to  run  away  from  you 
— if  she  can.  But  my  advice  to  you  is  this,  sir: 
When  she  gets  through  telling  you  what  she's 
going  to  you  brush  it  right  aside.  And  you 
ask  her  just  two  questions:  'Do  you  love  me?' 
and  'Will  you  marry  me?'  Don't  you  dispute  or 
argue.  You  hold  her  up  to  it — right  there!  If 
you  lose  her,"  I  said,  "you  are  a  plain  fool.  And 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  243 

if  you  harm  one  hair  on  her  head  you're  a  miser- 
able, low-down  dog  and  I'll  come  round  and  shoot 
you  myself. 

"And  that's  all,  sir,"  I  told  him.  "Except 
naturally  these  are  confidences  between  gentlemen, 
sir — and  I  know  will  be  regarded  as  such,  as  al- 
ways. And  in  closing  I'll  just  say  this:  She's 
just  ten  thousand  times  better  than  you  deserve, 
sir.  And  you  ought  to  spend  the  rest  of  this  day 
on  your  knees  thanking  God  for  bringing  her  to 
you.  If  you  have  sense  enough  to  take  her,  now 
she's  come!" 

And  then  I  shut  down  the  phone,  having  now 
stepped  in  and  done  all  the  harm  I  could  in  the 
matter. 


XIX 

IT  was  twilight,  as  I  understand  it — late  twi- 
light when  they  started.  I  remember  the 
night  myself — a  dull,  smooth,  muddy  cloud 
across  the  west.  Lights  began  to  show  after  they 
had  gone  booming  out  the  driveway — the  whisper- 
ing women,  curious  at  the  man's  absence  and  re- 
turn, peering  out  after  them  in  the  corners  of  the 
hall  window. 

"Where  to  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"South,"  she  said.  "On  the  old  road."  She 
thought  naturally  it  was  her  last  ride  with  him. 

And  then — as  I  piece  the  testimony  together, 
from  their  confidences,  out  a  way — when  they  had 
gone  out  beyond  the  almshouse,  both  silent,  he 
waiting  for  her  and  she  hating  to  begin,  she 
started  in  with  what  she  had  to  do. 

"I've  got  something,"  she  said,  "I've  got  to  tell 
you." 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  gruffly. 

He  had  been  sobering  up,  getting  ready  all  that 
day,  but  his  voice  was  still  hoarse  and  his  nerves 

still  raw  and  jerky. 

244 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  245 

"Is  it  true,"  she  asked  him — "what  they  say — 
that  you've  been  round  threatening  to  shoot  that 
— Calvert?" 

"That  ain't  telling  me  anything,"  he  said,  look- 
ing off  ahead  at  his  driving,  his  black  eyes  on  the 
road.  "That's  just  asking  me  a  question." 

"To  kill  him — on  my  account?" 

He  didn't  say  anything  at  all  now — which  was 
of  course  saying  more  than  he  could  any  other 
way. 

"Cole,"  she  said,  "you  can't  do  it.  You  aren't 
justified." 

"That's  my  lookout,"  he  said,  speaking  finally. 

"No,"  she  told  him  and  stopped,  hating  and 
dreading  to  go  on. 

"Suppose  I  told  you,"  she  said  finally,  forcing 
herself,  "that  it  was  he  that  was  justified." 

"Justified?"  he  said  after  her,  but  not  looking 
round. 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice.  "That  he 
told  the  truth!" 

"I'd  say  you  were  lying  too,"  he  told  her,  never 
turning  his  eyes  back  from  his  driving. 

"No,"  she  said  again,  when  her  voice  came  back 
to  her.  "Not  if  I  heard  it  right — what  he  said." 

"How  do  you  know  what  he  said?  Who  told 
you?" 

"He  did,"  she  said  after  a  minute. 


246  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"The  dirty  poodle !"  he  said  with  a  great  oath. 

And  they  stopped  talking  again. 

"He  couldn't  tell  the  truth  standing  before  the 
bright  throne  of  God  Almighty,"  he  told  her. 

"He  told  the  truth  this  time,  I  expect,"  she 
answered  him,  controlling  her  voice  again  at  last. 
"Or  near  enough — so  it  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence.1' 

And  then  she  told  him  the  story,  starting  back 
with  her  childhood  and  the  trial. 

He  said  nothing;  only  now  and  then  when  she 
touched  on  different  points  the  car  would  jump 
forward  of  a  sudden,  he  expressing  his  feelings  that 
way  involuntarily,  his  foot  on  the  accelerator. 

But  when  she  got  to  that  lawyer — how  he  took 
her  character  and  wantonly  and  deliberately 
defiled  it  in  that  public  trial — he  broke  his  silence. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  asked  her.  "Where  is  that 
beast  now?" 

"Why?"  she  asked  him. 

"Never  mind,"  he  told  her,  but  his  voice  told 
her  more. 

"Oh,  Cole,"  she  cried  out,  "can't  you  think  of 
anything  but  bitterness  and  revenge  and  fighting?" 

In  answer  to  her  he  didn't  say  anything;  but 
the  car  jumped  on  again  still  faster — on  the 
uneven  rutty  road,  the  headlights  rushing,  sweep- 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  24,7 

ing  on  ahead  on  the  dusty  roadside  bushes,  great 
clouds  of  yellow  dust  following. 

"You'll  have  to  stop,  hold. back  a  little,  Cole," 
she  said.  "I  can't  stand  this." 

And,  when  he  did  she  started  on  with  her  grind- 
ing task  again. 

"We  can't  kill  everybody  that  we  don't  like, 
can  we,"  she  said,  "or  that  insults  us,  nowadays? 
That's  gone  by.  It's  not  civilized.  And  besides, 
he  wasn't  to  blame  entirely,  from  his  lights." 

"Who  was?" 

"Who  is — for  anything?"  she  said.  "I  wonder 
sometimes.  He  was  just  one  link  in  a  chain. 
That's  what  life  is,  I've  thought  sometimes — a 
steel  chain  binding  you  down,  one  link  coming 
after  another,  each  one  not  able  by  itself  to  do 
anything,  nothing  but  just  one  part  of  the  whole. 
He  had  some  ground  anyway  to  think  or  claim. 
And  before  that,  there  was  my  mother — I 
expect." 

And  she  told  him  about  her  mother's  planning 
for  her  and  driving  her  and  decorating  her — to 
use  that  last  surviving  asset  of  the  failing  Fair- 
borns,  the  girl's  unusual  beauty. 

"I  had  to  fight,"  she  said— "I've  told  you  that 
already — for  what  girlhood  I  had — against  white 
frocks  and  white  shoes  and  fancy  ribbons.  I 


248  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

wasn't   that,    naturally,    was    I?     I    hope   not." 

"What?" 

"Merchandise — confectionery  in  pretty  pack- 
ages. I  didn't  mean  to  be." 

"You  never  were,"  he  growled,  starting  up  the 
Child  of  Hell  again  and  easing  her  back  when  he 
thought ! 

And  he  added  a  few  remarks  on  her  mother — as 
he  would,  naturally,  if  he  thought  them — and  had 
no  doubt  before. 

"No,"  she  said,  defending  her.  "That's  the 
way  she  is — was  made.  She  couldn't  be  anything 
else — from  what  she  was  raised  in.  I  expect  none 
of  us  can." 

"I  don't  know  as  we  can,"  he  admitted,  thinking 
perhaps  of  himself. 

And  she  went  on  again,  telling  him  of  her 
mother's  circumstances  and  her  own. 

"Anyhow,"  she  said,  "I  was  what  I  was — 
merchandise.  And  now,  after  that  trial,  I  was 
— spoiled  merchandise." 

He  cursed  a  denial  under  his  breath. 

"She  had  to  do  something,"  she  told  him  about 
her  mother.  "After  our  poor  circumstances, 
anyway — all  the  money  that  that  trial  cost  us. 
And  Robert  Lee  still  in  prison.  She  was  des- 
perate," she  told  him.  And  then  she  went  on  to 
tell  him  the  woman's  wild,  crazy  speculation  with 
that  A.  Gluber. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  249 

"Even  he,"  she  said,  "wasn't  to  blame 
altogether — horrible  as  he  is!  I've  no  doubt  she 
told  him — or  gave  him  to  understand,  anyway 
— we  were  propertied  people,  well  able  to  pay, 
except  just  for  that  moment.  That's  the  way 
she  talks  naturally — always  has !" 

And  Hawkins  talked  uncomplimentary  again 
about  both  the  woman  and  the  man. 

"No,"  she  said,  disputing  him.  "But  it  was 
about  all  I  could  bear,"  she  admitted  to  him,  "sit- 
ting there,  for  sale,  and  hearing  her  and  knowing 
how  they  laughed  and  sneered  and  pointed  at  me 
— especially  after  that  time  in  Louisville;  know- 
ing all  the  time  that  any  minute  one  of  those 
anonymous  letters  might  come  and  open  it  all  up 
again,  and  bare  me,  shame  me  all  over  again. 

"I've  wondered  quite  a  lot,"  she  said — they  were 
going  slower  now;  he  was  slowing  down,  listening 
to  her — "whether  in  the  old  days,  when  my  folks 
back  in  Virginia  raised  negroes  and  negresses  to 
sell  down  this  way — whether  this  was  a  kind  of 
revenge — whether  the  negroes  ever  felt  like  I  did 
— had  any  horror,  and  shame — anything  like  that 
at  all." 

"I  expect,"  she  added,  "I'm  kind  of  foolish — 
that  I'm  trying  to  be  sorry  for  myself — to  excuse 
myself.'* 

And  then  she  told  him  about  that  gas — that 
matter  I  was  mixed  up  in. 


250  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"I  thought  I  couldn't  go  on,"  she  said.  "That's 
what  I  blame  myself  most  for." 

"You  blame  yourself  easier  than  you  do  other 
folks,  don't  you?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  was  weak — silly — scared,"  she  said.  "I 
didn't  understand  then  that  folks  that  were  folks 
didji't  do  that — didn't  have  a  right  to — especially 
fixed  the  way  we  were.  I  had  no  right  to  die — 
with  my  mother  and  Robert  Lee  the  way  they 
were,  depending  on  me — or  believing  they  were, 
anyway.  It  wasn't  criminal — it  was  worse; 
it  was  a  coward's  trick.  The  only  excuse  to  be 
said  for  me  was  that  I  had  been  brought  up  mighty 
soft  and  foolish." 

They  stopped  talking  then  for  a  little  bit.  She 
made  him  turn  round.  They  were  a  good  long 
way  out  of  town,  and  it  was  growing  black — from 
these  rain  clouds  in  the  west.  It  looked  like  a 
thundershower — a  poor  thing  to  be  out  in  in  that 
open  dish  of  a  racing  car. 

"So  then  that's  all,"  she  said.  "They  were 
justified — Calvert  was — in  what  he  said." 

But  he  cursed  him  just  as  bitter  as  before,  still 
unconvinced. 

"You'll  do  what  I  ask  you,  Cole?"  she  asked, 
starting  pleading  with  him.  "You'll  promise  me 
that  you'll  leave  him  alone  ?" 

"No,"  he  told  her. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  251 

She  went  on  begging  him. 

"What's  your  anxiety  about  him,"  he  asked  her 
in  an  ugly  voice — "all  of  a  sudden?  What  is  he 
to  you?" 

"Nothing.  You  know  that,  Cole.  Nothing1 — 
and  a  heap  less!" 

"Then  why  are  you  mixing  into  this?  For 
whose  sake?" 

"You  don't  need  to  have  me  tell  you  that,"  she 
said  in  a  low,  quiet  voice.  "Or  you  oughtn't  to !" 

But.  she  didn't  convince  him  yet.  They  were 
going  back  slowly,  the  boy  dragging  it  out  as  long 
as  he  could,  in  spite  of  that  black  solid  wall  rising 
in  the  west,  shot  across  with  the  distant  fire  of 
lightning.  But  neither  one  minded  it  much,  for 
that  matter — or  paid  much  attention  yet. 

"Cole,"  she  said,  appealing  to  him  finally,  "let's 
let  him  alone  then,  and  you !  Let  me  ask  it  from 
you  another  way.  You  told  me  once  you — you 
loved  me." 

"I  do  now,"  he  said,  "if  that  does  you  any  good 
to  know — and  always  will." 

She  stopped  a  minute  before  she  went  on — 
trusted  herself  to. 

"Would  you  want  me  to  go  into  court  again, 
through  another  trial?"  she  asked  him.  "Are  you 
so  anxious  to  hurt  somebody — for  my  sake — as 
that?" 


252  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

And  she  covered  her  face  up  with  her  hands. 

She  convinced  him  finally  then  and  he  promised 
her.  She  thanked  him  for  it. 

And  then  they  were  silent  once  more.  The 
storm  was  coming  up  fast,  but  he  did  not  hurry. 
He  still  lagged — neither  one,  I  expect,  noticing  it 
too  much,  being  too  concerned  with  their  own 
affairs  and  feelings  to  notice  a  mere  natural  catas- 
trophe. 

"I  wasn't  trying  to  blame  you,  Cole,"  she  told 
him.  "You  mustn't  think  that." 

"Nor  anybody  else,  except  yourself!"  he  an- 
swered her. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  a«i  excusing  myself  now, 
I'm  afraid.  But  you  don't  realize — men  don't, 
I  believe — about  what  women  are  and  have  to  be. 
I've  thought  a  heap  about  a  heap  of  things  maybe 
you  wouldn't  naturally  know  in  the  last  year  or 
two — since  that  trial!" 

And  the  boy  swore  again  under  his  breath, 
thinking  of  it. 

"You  don't  realize  what  a  fragile  thing  a  woman 
is — what  she  really  is,  I  mean  to  say ;  her  actions, 
her  character — what  she  really  has  to  be  to  be 
anything.  How  fragile  and  how  sort  of  compli- 
cated, Cole,  her  life  is.  Everything  counts  against 
her  so — every  little  common  thought  and  action; 
she's  got  to  be  so  careful  in  these  little  things — or 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  253 

she's  nothing.  She's  got  to  be  perfect  or  she's 
nothing — even  sometimes,  maybe,  when  it  isn't  all 
her  own  fault." 

He  was  swearing  once  again  under  his  breath, 
thinking  of  the  whole  thing — of  what  she  was  do- 
ing now,  for  him ;  of  that  chain  of  circumstances 
she  had  talked  about — that  had  been  forged  by 
her  life,  her  ancestry,  her  whole  surroundings,  to 
drag  her  down  and  hold  her. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  getting  through,  "I 
couldn't  tell  you  this.  I'd  rather  you'd  remember 
me " 

"Remember  you!"  he  said,  the  car  jumping  on 
again  with  the  involuntary  push  of  his  foot  on  the 
accelerator. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "But  I  am  glad  now — I've 
done  what  I  have  done.  You'll  remember  me, 
maybe,  sometimes  a  little  better — more  kindly, 
when  you  think  it  over." 

He  didn't  answer  her. 

"Of  course  now  I  couldn't  expect,"  she  said, 
struggling  on,  "you'd  think  highly  of  me — not 
the  way  you  did*  I  understand  that,  sir." 

And  still  he  held  himself  back. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  keeping  all  expression 
out  of  his  voice,  when  she  was  finally  finished. 
"All  the  sins  you  can  think  of — you've  got  to 
tell?" 


254.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Yes,"  she  said,  surprised.  "Only  this:  You 
don't  believe,"  she  said — she  had  to  say  that  much 
• — "you  don't  believe — I  didn't  give  you  the  im- 
pression that  what  they  said  about  me — that  any- 
thing they  said  in  that  trial  was  true — could  be 
true!" 

"What  is  this?"  Cole  Hawkins  asked  her.  "An 
insult?"  A  glare  of  lightning  touched  his  hard- 
set  face  when  he  said  it.  "Do  you  think  that  I'd 
believe  that?" 

"I  didn't.  No,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice 
now.  "We  must  hurry !"  she  said  then,  waking  up 
to  the  situation,  now  her  part  was  done.  "Look 
what's  coming!" 

"We  can  wait  a  minute  or  two  more,  I  expect," 
he  said,  eying  the  sky.  "We've  got  plenty  of 
speed.  I've  got  something  now  I  want  to  ask  you 
myself.  You've  told  me  the  truth — up  to  date — 
haven't  you?" 

"What!"  she  said  sharply,  drawing  in  her 
breath. 

"You  have,  haven't  you?" 

"Oh,  Cole !"  she  said,  looking  up,  not  seeing  his 
trap. 

"I  believe  you  have.  But  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  one  thing  more.'* 

"I'll— I'll  tell  you  anything,  Cole,"  she  said, 
and  stopped,  waiting. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  255 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "It's  very  simple — this 
question.  All  I'm  going  to  ask  you  is  this:  Do 
you  love  me?" 

"Oh!"  she  said  with  a  quick,  protesting  cry. 
"That  isn't  fair." 

"No,"  he  said.     "I  want  to  know." 

"Supposing  I  did,"  she  said,  still  avoiding  him. 

"No,"  he  answered  her.     "You  tell  me!" 

They  were  silent  again,  neither  one  noticing  or 
remembering  that  black  storm  that  was  coming 
growling  up  after  them. 

"Yes,"  she  said  finally.  "If— if  I  hadn't— I 
wouldn't  be  here,  would  I?" 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  something,"  he  told  her. 
"You've  said  all  you  want  to — now  it's  my  turn 
to  talk  for  awhile.  I'm  going  to  marry  you! 
Understand?" 

"Never,"  she  said,  rousing  up.     "Never!" 

"You  said  you  loved  me." 

"Yes,"  she  said  after  awhile  again. 

"You  know  what'll  happen  to  me  if  you  don't  ?" 
he  asked  her.  "You  can  promise  yourself  this  — 
if  you  don't — I'll  go  tearing  into  hell  like  a  soul 
afire.  I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that." 

She  tried  to  deny  it. 

"You  can't,  that's  all,"  he  told  her.  "You 
know  it.  You're  not  going  to  spoil  both  our  lives 
by  your  foolishness,  not  if  I  know  it!" 


256  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"No,"  she  said  "Never.  I'll  never  do  it. 
Never.  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
albout — not  the  way  a  woman  would — a  girl! 
I've  thought  it  over  too  many  times.  It  might 
seem  all  right  now — but  it  isn't.  I  know.  You'd 
regret  it — always — later.  I  know — as  you  never 
can." 

"What?" 

"About  a  wife.  A  wife's  all  white  or  she's 
nothing.  I — I  think  too  much  of  you,  Cole,  to 
bring  you  a  wife  that  you'll  have  to  explain  and 
defend  all  your  life  to  your  neighbours." 

"What  you've  done,"  he  told  her  in  a  loud 
voice,  "I'll  hang  up  public — and  the  neighbours 
will  bow  down  to  it  and  be  proud  of  it,  just  as  I 
am  right  now." 

She  smiled,  happy  to  hear  him  say  so,  but  not 
changed  in  her  own  mind. 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  don't  know  what  it  is. 
You  can't — the  way  I  do !" 

"What?" 

"To  have  whispering  always  following  you  and1 
fingers  pointed  behind  your  back.  It  would  be 
worse,  I  should  think — a  thousand  times — about 
your  wife  than  about  yourself !" 

"I'd  like  to  see  them,"  he  said,  "just  once,  and 
live!" 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  257 

"That's  it,  Cole.  You  see  ?  All  I'd  do  would  be 
to  make  you  suffer  all  the  time." 

But  he  wouldn't  have  it  that  way. 

"No.  No,"  she  said,  still  denying  him.  "Don't 
let's  spoil  the  last  minutes  of  our  last  ride  to- 
gether." 

"Last  ride !"  he  said  with  a  rough  laugh.  "Yes 
— it  is.  It's  the  last  ride  we're  going  to  take  be- 
fore you're  married  to  me.  Do  you  think  I'll  let 
you  go  now  I've  got  you?"  he  said,  his  voice 
hoarsening.  "Do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do 
now?  I'm  going  to  drive  straight  from  here  to 
a  minister  and  we're  going  to " 

"Oh,  Cole,"  she  said.     "Don't  be— such  a  boy !" 

A  great  crack  of  thunder  cut  her  off. 

"Cole!"  she  cried  out.  "Look  yonder!  The 
storm!  It's  going  to  be  terrible." 

"To  hell  with  the  storm,"  he  said,  but  he  did 
start  up  a  little  when  he  caught  the  blackness  and 
heard  the  fear  in  her  voice. 

"But  the  first  thing,"  he  said,  we're  going  to 
decide  is — that  you'll  marry  me — now,  tonight." 

"No,"  she  said  again.  "No.  No!  I'll  bring 
no  man  myself  as  a  wife ;  least  of  all,  you,  Cole ! 
No,"  she  said,  repeating  in  a  level  voice  that  for- 
mula she  had  worked  out  for  herself,  "a  wife's  all 
white,  Cole,  or  she's  nothing!  And  nothing  in 


258  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

the  world  can  do  that  for  me — nothing  could 
change  what  people  must  always  say  about  me 
but  a  miracle — and  miracles  don't  happen  nowa- 
days any  longer,  Cole." 

And  just  then,  in  the  nick  of  time,  her  miracle 
came  along. 

"Cole !  Cole !"  she  called  to  him,  and  sank  down 
into  the  low  seat.  "The  storm !" 

A  great  flare  of  wind  beat  the  black  trees  over 
them  and  filled  her  face  and  eyes  with  dust.  A 
big  first  spat  of  rain  struck  the  car.  He  pressed 
his  foot  on  the  accelerator,  starting,  it  seems,  for 
a  shelter  which  he  had  planned  to  reach  before  it 
really  broke.  The  great  car  jumped  forward. 
The  dusty  wind  grew  wilder.  The  rain  began. 
They  were  going  now  like  the  devil's  express! 

"Cole,"  she  cried.     "Did  you  see  that?'* 

"What?" 

"Something — red  lanterns — there  on  the 
ground !" 

"That's  nothing,"  he  said.  "They're  just  mak- 
ing some  little  small  repairs  on  this  road.  Not 
much — or  it  wouldn't  be  open  at  all." 

And  then  they  struck  that  open  culvert. 


XX 

WHEN  she  came  to  her  senses  she  was 
lying  there  on  the  surface  of  the  road- 
way— the  car,  it  seems,  swerving  as 
it  struck  the  farther  side  of  the  opening  and  throw- 
ing her  out  forward,  to  one  side.  The  rain  was 
slashing  her  face,  the  sky  over  her  black  as  the  in- 
side of  an  iron  pot. 

"Cole!     Cole!"  she  called,  sitting  up. 

Another  flash  of  lightning  turned  the  sky  above 
the  ragged  jet-black  trees  into  milk.  She  saw  the 
ditch,  and  when  the  lightning  died  she  saw  below 
her  the  first  small  glow  of  fire  starting.  Then  she 
remembered  dimly  where  she  was,  started  up  and 
found — without  thinking  of  it  one  way  or  the  other 
— that  she  was  sound,  apparently  not  seriously 
hurt. 

She  stood  then  and  stared  over  into  the  ditch 
of  the  open  culvert — and  saw  what  was  probably 
going  to  happen.  And  she  knew  she  must  do  what- 
ever was  to  be  done  herself.  She  was  alone — and 
would  be.  All  folks  in  their  right  senses  had  gone 
scuttling  home  before  that  storm.  For  all  she 

knew  she  was  entirely  alone — the  boy  was  dead. 
259 


260  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

The  headlights  were  gone,  the  batteries  and  their 
^connections  all  smashed.  But  there  was  some  faint 
light  from  that  fire — just  starting,  as  they  say 
they  do,  from  the  oil  in  the  oil  pan  of  the  car  be- 
neath the  engine. 

Calling  the  boy's  name  still,  White  Shoulders 
slid  down  into  the  ditch.  It  was  only  six  or  eight 
feet  high,  but,  striking  the  bottom  in  her  fancy 
shoes,  she  pitched  forward  on  her  face  and  hands. 
Her  hat  fell  and  she  snatched  it  off.  Her  wet 
masses  of  hair  came  down.  Her  dress — her  mort- 
gaged finery — was  plastered  to  her  body  by  the 
rain.  She  flung  her  hair  back  out  of  her  face  and 
eyes  and,  leaning  forward,  she  saw  the  boy  at  last. 

He  lay  against  one  side  of  the  ditch,  the  body 
of  the  car  half  leaning  against  the  bank — but  not 
so  as  to  crush  him.  She  reached  down,  touched 
him,  found,  with  a  great  sob  of  happiness,  that 
he  was  alive,  if  not  conscious — but  found  too  that 
he  was  caught,  held  down.  Then  she  came  out 
again  and  stared  a  second  at  the  growing  fire 
underneath  the  hood — fearing,  naturally,  first  of 
all,  like  she  would,  about  the  gasoline. 

The  rain  poured  down  in  solid  sheets.  On  first 
thought,  it  seemed  to  her,  all  she  would  need  to  do 
would  be  to  open  the  hood  above  the  engine  and  let 
the  downpour  in — if  she  could  find  the  way  to  do 
it  or  the  hood  was  not  too  crushed  to  allow  it. 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  261 

And  then  she  thought — she  remembered  dimly — 
the  danger  there  might  be  in  this. 

If  it  were  gasoline  or  oil  which  had  started  burn- 
ing under  there,  the  more  water  there  was  the  more 
the  fire  would  spread,  be  carried  along ;  the  quicker 
the  machine,  the  man,  herself,  the  tank  of  gasoline 
might  be  enveloped  in  a  floating  flame. 

She  knew  practically  nothing  about  an  auto- 
mobile— but  her  decision,  her  whole  instinct,  was 
to  leave  alone  these  things  that  she  did  not  know 
about — might  even  very  likely  change  for  the 
worse — and  hurry,  make  haste  with  all  her  soul, 
to  free  the  boy  before  the  fire  got  him. 

She  crawled  back  again  to  see  how  she  could  do 
this.  He  was  caught,  she  found,  in  some  way  by 
his  arm  and  sleeve  beneath  the  broken  steering 
wheel  and  the  ditch  wall.  They  were  not,  she 
found,  groping,  held  against  masonry,  but  against 
a  fresh  cut  in  the  earth — which,  it  appeared,  had 
been  made  for  widening  the  old  smaller  culvert. 
The  smothered  flame  under  the  hood  seemed  to  be 
about  the  same. 

The  car  lay  on  its  side,  only  partly  tipped  over, 
the  front  wheels  on  the  outside  away  from  the 
wall,  a  foot  and  a  half  or  two  feet  off  the  ground. 
It  had  seemed  to  her  when  she  first  crawled  up 
upon  the  wreck  that  the  machine  might  be  balanced 
as  it  lay,  so  that  by  standing  out  on  its  outside 


262  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

edge  she  might  tip  it  back — at  least  so  much  that 
the  weight  from  the  steering  wheel  would  be  taken 
off  the  unconscious  boy.  She  tried  this — throwing 
her  whole  weight  on  it. 

The  car,  she  thought  for  a  minute,  did  move. 
But  then  at  once  she  saw,  with  sudden  terror, 
another  thing.  The  motion  that  she  caused — 
small  as  it  was — started  oil  or  gasoline  running 
somewhere — started  the  floating  fire,  which  she  had 
feared. 

By  good  luck,  it  appears,  the  fire  did  not  flow 
in  the  direction  of  the  man  she  was  trying  to  save, 
but  kept  still  fairly  well  under  the  engine — though, 
she  was  afraid,  a  little  more  than  before  under 
the  wooden  body  of  the  car.  She  stopped  rack- 
ing the  car  and  starting  up  the  flow  of  fire,  how- 
ever she  had  been  doing  it,  and  crawled  carefully 
back  over  the  boy's  body  and  started  to  dig  against 
the  dirt  bank. 

The  fire  died  down  a  little  with  the  stopping  of 
the  disturbance — whatever  it  was  she  had  done  with 
the  gasoline  or  oil.  The  storm,  with  its  sheets  of 
rain  soaking  the  car  body,  held  back  to  a  great 
extent  the  catching  fire  of  the  woodwork. 

The  girl  dug  frantically  on — bending  over, 
reaching  down  over  the  man's  body — clawing,  first 
with  her  bare  fingers  and  then  with  a  tool  she  had 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  263 

put  her  hand  on — a  sharp-mouthed  wrench.  It 
was  a  question  of  time — a  race  with  fire. 

Alone,  drenched,,  her  clothing  glued  to  her  body, 
she  fought  the  fire  and  the  storm.  The  rain 
descended  and  the  flood  came;  the  lightning  shot 
down  like  blue  devils  out  hunting  sinners  in  the 
dark;  the  afterclap  of  thunder  shook  loose  the 
iron  bolts  that  clamp  down  the  universe.  And 
from  underneath — a  lot  more  fearful  to  her  now! 
than  the  storm — came  up,  always  more  and  more, 
the  smoke  and  smudge  from  that  floating  fire  from 
under  her — the  catastrophe  which  threatened  to 
be  the  end  of  their  universe  at  least,  in  the  final 
burning  of  the  car  or  a  sudden  outburst  from  the 
tank  of  gasoline. 

She  fought  on — alone,  frantic,  voiceless,  desper- 
ate— a  thing  as  primitive  as  the  fire  or  the  storm, 
a  human  woman  fighting  for  the  thing  she  loved 
and  would  easily  and  gladly  by  all  the  laws  of 
Nature  give  her  life  for. 

The  fire  in  the  ruined  machine  was,  it  seemed  to 
her,  growing  now,  from  some  cause.  The  leakage 
or  flow  of  gasoline  might  be  increasing  andl 
the  floating  fire  extending  itself.  Or  the  wood- 
work in  the  car  beneath  might  be  at  last  catching. 
For  the  smudge  and  heat  beneath  her,  under  the 
car,  were  certainly  growing.  She  dug  on,  tearing 


264.  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

with  her  crude  tool,  gasping  but  never  stopping. 
And  it  seemed  to  her  at  last — she  had  the  despair- 
ing hope — that  very  soon  she  would  have  that 
thing  that  held  him — that  wrist  and  coat  sleeve — 
slipped  out  from  under  the  comparatively  slight 
hold  of  the  broken  steering  wheel. 

And  so  she  worked  on  and  on.  No  longer  White 
Shoulders — a  confection,  a  whimsey  built  from 
lace  and  ribbons,  for  the  delectation  of  mankind; 
something  finer,  older,  more  noble — a  woman. 
Her  clothing,  soaked  with  rain,  hung  to  her  fine 
limbs  like  draperies  to  a  heroic  statue — not  of 
Victory;  of  Desperation,  of  Fighting  Service,  of 
Eve,  the  primitive,  who  bore  and  reared  the  race 
and  fought  and  disobeyed  God  Almighty  for  the 
thing  she  loved. 

It  was  all  naturally  a  matter  of  minutes,  of 
seconds — all  this — though  it  had  seemed  hours. 
The  rain  dropped  off  now  finally — quite  a  lot; 
and  the  fire,  though  not  spreading  backward  any 
more  maybe,  was  now  evidently  getting  its  hold 
upon  the  car  body.  And  from  that,  naturally, 
would  come  the  next  and  final  danger — the  go- 
ing of  the  tank  of  gasoline. 

Then  at  last  she  saw  the  wrist  and  sleeve  were 
really  coming  free — were  free !  She  cried  out  and 
set  to  work  to  draw  the  boy's  body  out — an  awk- 
ward thing  to  do.  And  as  she  pulled,  and  strained, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  265 

with  some  sudden  pain,  maybe,  Cole  Hawkins' 
senses  came  back — for  one  moment  only. 

"What's  this?"  he  asked,  his  face  close  to  hers 
— and  fell  limp  again. 

By  now  the  flame — real  living  fire — was  Start- 
ing, showing  through  the  cracks  in  the  car  bot- 
tom. The  girl's  soaked  clothing  was  fireproof — 
for  the  present  at  least;  but  the  heat  scorched 
and  blistered  her,  even  burned  her  flesh,  as  she 
tugged  and  lifted  and  dragged  out  her  unconscious 
load,  struggling  with  all  the  strength  of  her  wo- 
man's body  to  pull  the  boy  out  of  the  tipped  car, 
to  safety,  the  question  always  in  her  mind: 
Could  she  do  this  before  the  gasoline  tank  went? 

She  moved  him  finally,  dragged  him — a  big, 
strong,  robust  woman  working  at  the  top  of  her 
nervous  strength — out  from  the  machine ;  out  and 
one  side  from  the  culvert  to  the  soaked  turf  beside 
the  roadway,  out  of  the  danger  of  explosion  from 
the  car  when  it  came!  That  was  the  last — the 
final  fierce  expenditure  of  her  strength. 

They  found  them  both  there,  side  by  side,  when 
the  light  of  the  burning  car  called  out  the  people 
from  the  nearest  house. 

The  first  I  heard  of  it  was  at  nine-twenty-one 
o'clock.  I  can  remember  it  from  the  impression 
made  on  me  by  the  hands  of  the  office  clock,  which 
I  stared  at  while  they  were  telling  me  the  news  on 


266  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

the  telephone.  For  the  folks  that  found  them 
near  their  place  knew  me  and  knew  that  I  knev? 
the  boy  quite  intimately. 

"Cole  Hawkins  and  a  girl  have  been  killed  out 
here  together  in  an  auto  accident !"  this  man  called 
over  the  wire.  "I  thought  you'd  want  to  know. 
They  were  making  over  a  culvert  out  here  on  the 
main  road,"  he  said,  telling  me  the  particulars  of 
how  it  happened,  "and  they  say  the  workmen  must 
have  gone  away  after  work  in  the  evening  and 
forgotten  to  stop  up  the  road  where  they'd  been 
driving  the  work  teams  in.  The  temporary  fence 
wasn't  set  up,  and  the  red  lanterns  were  just  sit- 
ting there,  at  one  side — on  the  ground.  It  must 
have  been  raining,  when  they  got  there,  and  they 
jumped  right  into  the  jaws  of  the  thing.  I'll 
tell  you  more  later,"  he  said  and  shut  off. 

And  right  after  that  he  called  up  again. 

"More  folks  have  just  come  in  from  out  there," 
he  told  me  this  time,  "and  they  say  they  ain't 
either  of  them  dead.  But  they're  going  to  take 
them  both  right  over  to  the  hospital." 


XXI 

THEY  let  me  see  the  doctors  after  they  were 
through  about  as  soon  as  anybody. 
"He's    coming   out    all   right   now,"   they 
told  me.     "He's  certainly  tough.     He  was  stunned 
for  awhile,  and  one  wrist  was  crushed  some — but 
not  so  we  won't  save  it." 

"What  about  her— the  girl?" 

"She  was  burned  a  little — but  not  deep.  She 
got  him  out  in  just  about  time.  And  natu- 
rally she's  bruised  and  battered.  But  she's  not 
hurt  bad.  She'll  be  all  right.  You  can  see  them 
both  tomorrow  sometime.  But  in  the  meantime 
there's  one  thing  I  wish  you  could  do — I  wish  you 
could  keep  that  mother  of  the  girl  out  of  here. 
She's  too  noisy;  we  can't  have  her  in  there  with 
the  girl.  And  we  can't  have  her  prowling  round 
the  corridors  here  like  a  hyena  deprived  of  its 
young.  Those  two  are  all  right — all  they  want 
is  rest — the  girl  from  her  mother  especially. 
Judge,  you  come  tell  her  so.  Take  her  away. 
Issue  a  subpoena  or  injunction  or  something  and 
take  her  home  with  you — to  your  common  habita- 
tion at  Mrs.  Tusset's." 

So  I  made  myself  useful  and  took  her  home  and 
267 


268  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

amused  her — let  her  talk  to  me  till  some  three  or 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  going  over  the  rear- 
ing of  the  girl,  White  Shoulders,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  her  education  in  finery  and  allurements. 

The  woman  was  rather  violent  at  first. 

"They've  shut  me  out  from  my  baby,  my  Vir- 
ginia!" she  wailed  to  me.  "When  she  most  needs 
me!" 

It  occurred  to  me  then  finally — entirely  of  my 
own  motion — that  never,  as  matters  were  now 
shaping,  would  I  have  a  better  opportunity  to 
act  in  the  capacity  of  the  so-called  god  in  the  ma- 
chine. Having  apparently  been  forced  into  the 
position  of  fate  with  these  two  youngsters,  why  not 
take  the  longer  view  and  do  a  real  good  lasting 
job — looking  into  their  far  future,  as  I  conceived 
it  now  about  to  be? 

So  the  conversation — not  entirely  unguided  by 
me — moved  in  the  direction  of  the  other  offspring 
— of  Robert  Lee,  who,  as  I  had  suspected  for 
some  days,  seemed  on  the  point  of  being  released 
from  his  short  term  in  prison. 

"I  should  expect,  madam,"  I  told  his  mother, 
"that  you  will  be  going  to  be  with  him — that 
he  will  need  you  now,  undoubtedly." 

"He  will  judge,"  she  told  me,  "I  expect.  I 
reared  him  tenderly — to  depend  on  me." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  269 

*  I  was  going  to  say,"  I  told  her,  "that  very 
likely,  in  case  you  felt  like  taking  my  assistance 
and  advice,  I  might  be  of  some  service  to  you  in 
that  matter — in  getting  the  boy  placed  right  when 
he  was  free  again." 

"I  would  take  your  advice,  judge,"  she  an- 
swered, complimenting  me,  "anywhere !  On  any- 
thing! I  value  it  above  all  things.  Would  you 
advise  my  going  and  waiting  for  him — outside  the 
prison — until  he  is  released?" 

Her  mind  ran  like  wildfire  to  the  first  sug- 
gestion of  romance  and  chivalry  and  heroic 
postures.  She  lived  all  her  life  a  maid  with 
long  and  unbound  hair  staring  out  a  postern 
window  over  a  moat  bounded  by  blood-red  lilies. 

"But  what  about  the  means  for  this?"  she  asked, 
remembering.  "And  what  about  my  child,  my 
Virginia?  Are  you  so  certain  that  she  is  to 
survive  this  shock — that  she  will  surely  recover? 

"She  will  recover,"  I  said,  "absolutely.  The 
doctors  assure  me  so." 

"Unblemished?     Unscarred?" 

"I  understand  so,"  I  told  her.  "The  thing 
now  that  you  and  I  must  look  forward  to  is 
beyond  that — to  what  may  come  out  of  this 
present  situation." 

"I  see,  judge,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  keenly 


270  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

over  her  pocket  handkerchief,  her  rouge  again  in 
a  bad  state  of  disrepair. 

"I'm  afraid,  ma'am,"  I  said,  "you  will  think  I 
am  too  hard  and  practical  in  this  matter,  for 
you,  I  know,  are  a  good  lot  of  a  romanticist  by 
nature." 

"I  may  be,  judge,  sir,"  she  said.  "Too  much 
so,  I'm  afraid.  Go  ahead,  please." 

"What  I  was  going  to  say,  ma'am,"  I  told  her 
"was  this:  You  find  yourself  in  a  somewhat 
delicate  position  in  your  present  situation." 

"I  do,  yes,"  she  assented. 

"Your  finances,  in  the  first  place,  are  in  none 
too  good  a  shape.  Several  other  matters  are 
coming  up  that  may  embarrass  you,  and  I  was 
going  to  suggest  a  course  of  action,  if  you  will 
not  consider  it  thrusting  myself  too  much  into 
your  affairs." 

"Judge,"  she  said,  "nothing  would  please  me 
more  than  to  have  you  handle  them  for  me — if 
you  would,  sir.  I  consider  it  most  generous  of 
you  to  offer,  sir.  What  would  you  advise?  I 
have  come  to  regard  you,  sir,  as  I  would  my  own 
brother.  I  depend  on  you  in  just  that  way." 

"This  matter,"  I  told  her  then  very  gravely, 
"it  seems  to  me — that  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
now — marks  a  very  critical  juncture,  if  I  may 
say  so,  madam,  in  your  affairs." 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  271 

"Go  ahead,  please,  sir,"  she  directed  me. 

"Well,  madam,"  I  told  her  then,  "if  we  start 
at  the  beginning  in  your  affairs,  I  expect  we  can 
agree  upon  one  thing." 

"What's  that,  judge?"  she  asked  me. 

"That  an  advantageous  marriage — in  fact  this 
particular  marriage  which  may  result  from  the 
present  situation — would  be  an  almost  ideal 
solution  of  the  problems  of  your  girl  and,  to 
an  extent,  yourself.  And  perhaps,  in  fact,  the 
only  possible  one." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  told  me.  "There's  no  doubt 
of  that,  sir." 

"Now  here,"  I  told  her,  "is  where  I  think  I 
may  serve  you — if  you  will  permit  me.  I  am  not 
practiced,  madam,"  I  said,  "in  matchmaking. 
But  in  this  particular  case,  maybe,  I  might  have 
some  advantages." 

"Over  me !"  she  said,  catching  my  idea  at  once 

"Over  anybody,"  I  said,  "alive.  I  go  so  far, 
ma'am,  as  to  flatter  myself." 

"It's  true,  sir,  I  know  it,"  she  answered  me. 

"So,  if  you  will  leave  this  matter  for  the  present 
in  my  care — if  you  will  permit  me,  madam,  for 
the  time  being  to  act  as  sole  director  of  this 
romantic  situation,  it  might  be  of  very  practical 
advantage  to  you  and  your  affairs.  I  feel  I  can 
assure  you,  in  fact,  that  it  will  be.  Whereas, 


272  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

under  some  other  circumstances,  a  false  step  or 
bad  management  of  any  kind  might  prove  fatal." 

She  looked  at  me — understanding  my  intimation 
fully,  and  still  concealing  its  full  meaning  from 
herself.  Half  romantic — or  romantically  un- 
balanced, as  Sam  Barsam  would  say;  half  or  a 
little  more  than  half,  with  a  clear  eye  on  the 
necessities,  now  so  very  sharp  and  pressing. 

"And  then,  naturally,"  I  hinted,  "there  might 
be  some  advantages  which  I  personally  might 
bring  to  you — would  be  glad  to,  if  you  would 
feel  you  could  put  the  guidance  of  your  affairs 
more  or  less  unreservedly  into  my|hands.  If  you, 
for  instance,  should  undertake  your  new  duty — 
your  now  obvious  obligation  of  taking  up  your 
residence  with  your  Robert  Lee — I  might,  I 
expect,  be  of  assistance  in  some  ways  in  getting 
your  boy  and  yourself  started  in  life." 

"Judge,"  she  said,  "this  is  too  much — too  much 
of  an  added  obligation,  sir !" 

"Not  at  all,  ma'am.  It  will  be  a  delight, 
provided  you  feel  you  can  put  the  rearrangement 
of  your  affairs  rather  fully  in  my  hands." 

"If  I  only  could,  sir,"  she  said. 

"You  can,  certainly,"  I  told  her. 

"I  have  made  an  awfii  mess  of  them,  sir, 
haven't  I?"  she  asked. 

"It  will  certainly  be  a  pleasure  to  me — in  more 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  273 

ways  than  one,"  I  told  her,  avoiding  that 
particular  question.  "For  example,  it  will  be  a 
delight,  ma'am — an  unbounded  delight — to  have 
a  free  hand  in  dealing  with  that  dressmaker — 
that  scoundrel,  A.  Gluber,  in  St.  Louis — the 
way  I've  got  a  plan  to  do,  ma'am — if  you  really 
desire  to  put  your  affairs  into  my  hands !" 

"Oh,  judge,"  she  said  with  a  little  shudder,  "if 
you  only  will  take  them !  If  you  only  will,  sir  1" 

I  had  given  her  the  opportunity  of  withdrawing 
from  the  present  situation — in  which  alone  I  was 
interested — with  all  the  romantic  honours  of  war ; 
and  the  practical  advantages  of  reprieve  from  a 
desperate  situation,  thus  satisfying  her  dual 
personality  on  both  sides.  She  had  accepted. 
Yet  my  own  advantage,  I  could  still  see,  had 
not  yet  been  pushed  to  its  ultimate  and  logical 
conclusion.  I  consequently  pushed  on  from  that 
point. 

"All  this,"  I  told  her,  "provided,  naturally, 
that  we  can  bring  about — that  I  can  bring  about 
what  we  both  desire  between  your  daughter  and 
my  young  friend  Hawkins — which  is  still  some- 
thing of  a  problem,  considering  the  state  of  their 
minds  when  I  last  knew  about  them.  It  will  be  a 
delicate  situation,  in  which  I  shall  have  to  use  my 
judgment,  you  understand,  ma'am,  unhamp*- 
ered." 


274  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

She  looked  at  me  some  time  without  speaking. 

"Judge,"  she  said  finally,  "let  us  be  frank.  I 
am  a  mother,  sir,  yet  I  have  some  sense,  some 
intelligence." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  said,  waiting. 

"Judge,"  she  said  then  after  more  hesitating, 
"I  think — I  believe  I  see  what  you  mean,  sir.  You 
mean  to  say  that  my  presence  at  this  time  would 
be  a  detriment  rather  than  a  help  to  the  eventua- 
tion  of  this  marriage,  sir." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  I  answered  her.  "If  by  that 
you  mean  your  actual  physical  presence." 

"And  even  later — when — if — if  they  become 
married,  sir?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I'm  afraid  so,"  I  told  her,  not 
mincing  matters.  "Not,  of  course,"  I  said,  "your 
entire  absence.  But  your  continued  presence  with 
them  for  any  length  of  time  would  be  inadvisable." 

She  took  it  somewhat  dramatically,  speaking  at 
length  of  the  passions  and  ambitions  and  sacrifices 
of  motherhood,  yet  not  really  hard  after  all.  One 
side  at  least  of  her  nature — her  practical  side — 
was  satisfied.  I  gained  at  last  the  understanding 
I  aimed  for — perhaps  the  most  forehanded  act 
of  diplomacy  in  my  life — all  in  anticipation  of 
an  event  still  in  the  deep  calm  shadow  of  the  future. 

Wild  horses,  I  knew,  would  not  have  dragged 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  275 

the  boy  away  from  the  girl — nothing  would  have 
prevented  him,  not  even  that  mother.  But  why, 
as  Sam  Barsam  said — why  not  in  times  of  pros- 
perity lay  the  foundations  for  adversity?  Why 
not,  while  beginning,  found  the  air  castles  of 
young  love  and  matrimony  on  a  rock?  This  at 
least  was  my  reasoning  in  my  one  official  promo- 
tion and  futherance  of  that  "great  law  of  Nature 
which  operates  so  inexorably  upon  the  young. 

I  saw  Cole  Hawkins  first  at  the  hospital  in  the 
morning — sitting  up  in  his  bed,  his  arm  in  a  sling. 

"How  is  she?"  he  asked  me  first.  "Are  they 
telling  me  the  truth?  Is  she  only  hurt  a  little 
— like  they  say?'* 

By  that  time  I  could  assure  him  that  she  was. 

"What  if  I'd  killed  her?"  he  asked,  and  stared 
off  again  under  that  thick  mop  of  hair  of  his. 
"What  a  reckless  fool  I've  always  been,"  he  said 
finally ;  and  then  he  told  me  about  what  he'd  been 
intending  to  do  that  night  before — to  make  her 
marry  him  then  and  there — to  carry  her  off  with 
him.  "But  she  wouldn't,  judge,"  he  said,  staring 
off,  "and  do  you  know  why  ?" 

"Why?"  I  asked  him  back,  though  he  must 
have  known  that  I  knew,  if  he  had  stopped  to 
think. 

"Because  she  thought  she  wasn't  good  enough 


276  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

for  me !"  he  said  with  a  harsh  laugh.  "For  me !" 
he  said,  in  a  bitter,  scornful  laugh — and  stared 
on  out  the  window  opposite  him. 

"You  don't  deserve  quite  so  good  luck,  I'll  say 
myself,  as  that  girl  is,"  I  told  him. 

"Judge,"  he  said  to  me,  "think  of  it !  What  she 
did  last  night  for  me.  And  that  ain't  all,"  he 
said.  "She  dragged  me  out  of  hell  once  before." 
And  he  told  me  again  how  she  got  him  to  stop 
drinking. 

"You  didn't  stay  put  very  well,  did  you?"  I 
asked  him. 

"I  would  have,  judge,"  he  told  me,  fastening 
those  fiery  black  eyes  on  me,  "if  she  hadn't  quit  me. 
If  I'd  had  her  I'd  have  been  all  right.  And  I'm  not 
fooling  myself  in  that  either,  judge.  When  I  say 
I  can  do  a  thing,  sir,  I  can  generally  be  counted 
on  to  do  it.  You  know  that." 

"You've  got  a  mind  of  your  own,  I  expect — 
when  you  get  it  set  on  anything,"  I  agreed. 

"What  do  they  keep  me  here  for?"  he  inquired, 
lashing  out  with  his  feet  under  the  bedclothes 
instead  of  answering.  "I'm  not  sick.  Why 
don't  they  let  me  up?" 

"Maybe  they  want  you  to  rest,"  I  told  him. 

"Look  a  here,  judge,"  he  said  finally.  "Do  you 
suppose,  anyway,  I  might  still  have  a  chance — 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  277 

after  everything — after  last  night,  almost  killing 
her?  Do  you  suppose  I  might  have  a  chance 
with  her?" 

"Some  surface  indications  might  point  that 
way,"  I  told  him.  "Only  for  that  idea  that  she's 
got  in  her  head — that  she  won't  marry  you." 

And  he  swore  a  little  under  his  breath,  and 
threshed  round  in  bed  again. 

"Look  a  here,  judge,"  he  said.  "They'll  let  you 
see  her  maybe,  now.  You  say  she's  not  so  very 
bad." 

"See  her?"  grinning  a  little  in  spite  of  myself. 

"Yes,  sir.  And  find  out,  maybe — how  I  stand 
there  now." 

"Well  now,  sir,"  I  told  him,  "as  long  as  I  seem 
to  be  chosen  by  fate  as  Cupid,  God  of  Love,  and 
in  order  to  insure  and  promote  the  general  peace 
and  welfare  of  Prendergast  County,  I'll  make  the 
attempt  sir — if  you  say  so." 

"Go  on  judge,"  he  begged,  not  cracking  a  smile 
"Will  you  please,  sir?" 

So  I  went  out  into  the  hospital  corridor  again, 
and  they  finally  let  me  into  her  room,  where  she 
was  sitting  up  in  bed,  all  bandaged  up. 

"Judge !"  she  called  out,  and  held  out  her  arms 
to  me.  And  I  went  over  by  her  bedside. 

"What  do  you  think  of  me?     How  do  you  like 


278  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

these  bandages?"  she  asked  me  when  I  stood  up 
again  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  by  her  bed.  Her 
voice  was  almost  gay. 

"You  look  well  enough  to  me,"  I  said.     "Why?" 

"How  would  you  like  to  look  at  these  forever?" 

"What?"  I  said.     "Are  you  scarred?" 

"Probably  I  am,"  she  told  me. 

"Don't  believe  a  word  she  says,"  the  nurse  said 
to  me.  "There  won't  be  a  mark  on  her  in  two 
weeks." 

And  then  the  nurse  went  out. 

"You  had  a  pretty  narrow  squeak  of  it, 
daughter,"  I  told  Virginia. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"But  there's  one  thing,  anyhow,"  I  said,  smiling 
over  at  her. 

"What's   that?"    she   answered,    smiling   back. 

"Your  miracle's  come  at  last." 

"My  miracle?"  she  said  back. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,  ma'am,"  I  said, 
smiling.  "The  one  thing  you  were  always  revert- 
ing to — that  would  clear  up  your  insuperable 
objections  to  matrimony." 

"What  is  it  you  mean,  sir?"  she  still  asked  me. 

"That,"  I  said,  and  I  pointed  round  the  room. 
The  place  was  full  of  flowers,  banks  and  mounds 
of  them.  "The  opinion  of  your  contemporaries," 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  279 

I  told  her.  "Your  standing  in  the  public  estima- 
tion." 

And  I  told  her  some  of  the  nice  things  I  had 
heard  about  her  in  the  town — the  general  praise 
and  admiration  of  what  she  had  done. 

"I've  come,"  I  told  her  finally,  "to  you  from 
one  of  your  many  admirers — to  talk  to  you  as  an 
ambassador." 

"From  who?"  she  said,  her  eyes  shining,  but 
her  voice  dropping. 

"Cole  Hawkins,"  I  told  her,  and  waited  for  her 
to  speak. 

"Well  ?"     I  said  when  she  refused  to. 

"Judge,  I  can't  do  it.  I've  thought  it  all  over," 
she  insisted.  But  there  was  no  flavour,  no  deter- 
mination, to  her  voice. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Virginia — don't  put  by  your 
miracle — when  it  comes  right  up  to  you,"  I  said, 
smiling  at  her. 

"But  he's  told  you,  I  expect,"  she  went  on, 
persisting  a  little  further,  "what  I  told  him — last 
night.  I  can't — I  can't  bring  him  a  wife  he'd 
have  all  his  life  to  defend.  x  I  can't  bring  him  a 
wife  they'll  all  be  pointing  at  and  whispering 
after." 

"Whispering?"  I  said.     "You're  wrong." 

"Wrong?"     she  said,  watching  me. 


280  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

"Whispering?"  I  told  her.  "No.  They're 
shouting  since  last  night.  If  you  want  to  know 
about  your  present  reputation — if  you  want  the 
judgment  and  opinion  of  your  contemporaries — 
there  they  stand  all  round  you,"  I  said,  pointing 
out  the  flowers  in  the  room.  "You've  got  more 
admirers  and  friends  today,"  I  said,  "than  any 
girl  south  of  the  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line — and 
that's  the  strongest  statement  all  history  contains, 
ma'am.  What's  more,"  I  went  on,  "there's  one 
of  them  that's  burning  up  now  just  to  see  you  to 
speak  about  four  words — in  question  form. 
And  I'm  going  out  and  get  him  dressed  and  bring 
him  in  to  see  you." 

"No,  judge,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice.     "No." 

"This  is  under  doctor's  advice,"  I  assured  her. 
"I'm  acting  as  an  expert.  It  will  be  the  best 
possible  treatment  for  both  your  cases,"  I  said, 
"if  he  comes  in  here  for  just  two  minutes  or  so." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  possibly,  judge,"  she  said. 
"Not  the  way  I  look  now !" 

I  stepped  over  to  the  door  and  called  in  the  nurse 
again  from  the  anteroom. 

"You  help  fix  this  young  woman  up,"  I  said  to 
her.  "Make  her  bandages  look  as  sweet-pretty 
and  as  ornamental  as  you  can.  But  don't  take  off 
one  of  them,  understand.  Put  some  more  on  if 
you  can.  I'm  going  to  bring  in  a  visitor  in  about 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  281 

ten  minutes  who  will  think  those  bandages  are 
the  finest  ornaments  a  woman  ever  wore  in  this 
world.  Which  I  do  myself,"  I  said,  turning  round 
to  go. 

But  she  made  me  lean  over  once  more — till  she 
kissed  me. 

"Don't  hurry.  Don't  hurry  too  much,"  she 
said  in  a  flustered  voice  when  I  went  out.  "Not 
in  less  than  half  an  hour,  anyhow." 

When  I  left  I  stumbled  over  two  or  three  more 
great  bouquets  being  brought  in — for  which  two 
or  three  more  gardens  had  been  ravished. 

I  went  back  into  the  room  where  I  had  left  Cole 
Hawkins.  He  was  shaking  all  over. 

"You're  a  real  bad  man,  ain't  you?"  I  said  to 
him.  "You're  a  dangerous-looking  customer." 

"Quit  your  fooling,  judge,"  he  said.  "What 
did  she  say  to  you?" 

"I  expect,"  I  told  him,  "she  might  see  you 
in  about  half  an  hour  from  now.  Now — wait 
a  minute,"  I  said.  "Hold  on!  You've  got  to 
wait  for  us  to  get  your  clothes  on  before  you  go. 
And  don't  knock  that  arm,  either!  There's 
plenty  of  time — twenty-five  minutes  anyhow  before 
she  can  see  you." 

I  stayed  with  him  till  his  time  was  up. 

"You'll  need  a  best  man,"  I  said,  "to  take 
you  over  there." 


282  WHITE  SHOULDERS 

And  I  went  with  him  down  the  corridor  and 
knocked  at  the  door. 

"Stop  shivering  and  shaking,"  I  said  to  him. 
"Haven't  I  told  you  it's  all  right?" 

And  then  the  nurse  opened  the  door  and  it  closed 
after  them. 

I  saw  old  Judge  Pendleton  on  the  street  that 
noon,  the  first  time  I'd  seen  him  off  his  old  plan- 
tation for  years.  The  whole  town  had  come  down 
to  see  that  black  and  twisted  Child  of  Hell  backed 
up  in  the  culvert. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "judge,  I  came  out  to 
see  that  thing — that  auto  accident,  where  that  girl 
saved  young  Cole  Hawkins — alone,  with  all  the 
chances  against  her.  And  I  want  to  say  to  you, 
sir,  that  was  a  magnificent  act! 

"By  God,  sir,  I  went  through  the  Civil  War,  sir. 
I've  seen  considerable  of  life  and  I'm  no  sentimen- 
talist or  idealist,  sir.  But  sir,  that  was  the 
bravest,  most  desperate  act  of  hers — digging  him 
out  alone  from  that  burning  car — I  ever  heard  of. 
You  wouldn't  believe — looking  at  that  black  wreck 
there,  and  what  she  must  have  done  to  get  him  out 
— that  human  nature  was  capable  of  it,  sir — let 
alone  a  delicately  reared  Southern  woman,  sir. 
You  wouldn't  have  said  it  could  be  done." 

"Judge,"     I  said,     "you  know,  and  I  know, 


WHITE  SHOULDERS  283 

better,  sir!  You  know  a  good  woman  is  capable 
of  anything — any  sacrifice,  sir — reasonable  or 
unreasonable — for  the  man  she  loves.  That's 
what  makes  them  what  they  are  to  us,  sir.  The 
finest  thing  in  this  hard  and  desperate  world." 


THE   END 


